The Project Gutenberg EBook of Graustark, by George Barr McCutcheon
#2 in our series by George Barr McCutcheon

Copyright laws are changing all over the world. Be sure to check the
copyright laws for your country before downloading or redistributing
this or any other Project Gutenberg eBook.

This header should be the first thing seen when viewing this Project
Gutenberg file.  Please do not remove it.  Do not change or edit the
header without written permission.

Please read the "legal small print," and other information about the
eBook and Project Gutenberg at the bottom of this file.  Included is
important information about your specific rights and restrictions in
how the file may be used.  You can also find out about how to make a
donation to Project Gutenberg, and how to get involved.


**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts**

**eBooks Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971**

*****These eBooks Were Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers!*****


Title: Graustark

Author: George Barr McCutcheon

Release Date: February, 2004 [EBook #5142]
[Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule]
[This file was first posted on May 13, 2002]

Edition: 10

Language: English

Character set encoding: ASCII

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GRAUSTARK ***










GRAUSTARK




I

MR. GRENFALL LORRY SEEKS ADVENTURE


Mr. Grenfall Lorry boarded the east-bound express at Denver with
all the air of a martyr.  He had traveled pretty much all over
the world, and he was not without resources, but the prospect of
a twenty-five hundred mile journey alone filled him with dismay.
The country he knew; the scenery had long since lost its
attractions for him; countless newsboys bad failed to tempt him
with the literature they thrust in his face, and as for his
fellow-passengers--well, he preferred to be alone.  And so it was
that he gloomily motioned the porter to his boxes and mounted the
steps with weariness.

As it happened, Mr. Grenfall Lorry did not have a dull moment
after the train started.

He stumbled on a figure that leaned toward the window in the dark
passageway.  With reluctant civility he apologized; a lady stood
up to let him pass, and for an instant in the half light their
eyes met, and that is why the miles rushed by with incredible
speed.

Mr. Lorry had been dawdling away the months in Mexico and
California.  For years he had felt, together with many other
people, that a sea-voyage was the essential beginning of every
journey; he had started round the world soon after leaving
Cambridge; he had fished through Norway and hunted in India, and
shot everything from grouse on the Scottish moors to the rapids
above Assouan.  He had run in and out of countless towns and
countries on the coast of South America; he had done Russia and
the Rhone valley and Brittany and Damascus; he had seen them all
--but not until then did it occur to him that there might be
something of interest nearer home.  True he had thought of
joining some Englishmen on a hunting tour in the Rockies, but
that had fallen through.  When the idea of Mexico did occur to
him he gave orders to pack his things, purchased interminable
green tickets, dined unusually well at his club, and was off in
no time to the unknown West.

There was a theory in his family that it would have been a
decenter thing for him to stop running about and settle down to
work.  But his thoughtful father had given him a wealthy mother,
and as earning a living was not a necessity, he failed to see why
it was a duty.  "Work is becoming to some men," he once declared,
"like whiskers or red ties, but it does not follow that all men
can stand it."  After that the family found him "hopeless," and
the argument dropped.

He was just under thirty years, as good-looking as most men, with
no one dependent upon him and an income that had withstood both
the Maison Doree and a dahabeah on the Nile.  He never tired of
seeing things and peoples and places.  "There's game to be found
anywhere," he said, "only it's sometimes out of season.  If I had
my way--and millions--I should run a newspaper.  Then all the
excitements would come to me.  As it is--I'm poor, and so I have
to go all over the world after them."

This agreeable theory of life had worked well; he was a little
bored at times--not because he had seen too much, but because
there were not more things left to see.  He had managed somehow
to keep his enthusiasms through everything--and they made life
worth living.  He felt too a certain elation--like a spirited
horse--at turning toward home, but Washington had not much to
offer him, and the thrill did not last.  His big bag and his
hatbox--pasted over with foolish labels from continental hotels
--were piled in the corner of his compartment, and he settled back
in his seat with a pleasurable sense of expectancy.  The presence
in the next room of a very smart appearing young woman was
prominent in his consciousness.  It gave him an uneasiness which
was the beginning of delight.  He had seen her for only a second
in the passageway, but that second had made him hold himself a
little straighter.  "Why is it," he wondered, "that some girls
make you stand like a footman the moment you see them?"  Grenfall
had been in love too many times to think of marriage; his habit
of mind was still general, and he classified women broadly.  At
the same time he had a feeling that in this case generalities did
not apply well; there was something about the girl that made him
hesitate at labelling her "Class A, or B, or Z." What it was he
did not know, but--unaccountably-she filled him with an affected
formality He felt like bowing to her with a grand air and much
dignity.  And yet he realized that his  successes had come from
confidence.

At luncheon he saw her in the dining car.  Her companions were
elderly persons--presumably her parents.  They talked mostly in
French--occasionally using a German word or phrase.  The old
gentleman was stately and austere--with an air of deference to
the young woman which Grenfall did not understand.  His
appearance was very striking; his face pale and heavily lined;
moustache and imperial gray; the eyebrows large and bushy, and
the jaw and chin square and firm.  The white-haired lady carried
her head high with unmistakable gentility.  They were all dressed
in traveling suits which suggested something foreign, but not
Vienna nor Paris; smart, but far from American tastes.

Lorry watched the trio with great interest.  Twice during
luncheon the young woman glanced toward him carelessly and left
an annoying impression that she had not seen him.  As they left
the table and passed into the observation car, he stared at her
with some defiance.  But she was smiling, and her dimples showed,
and Grenfall was ashamed.  For some moments he sat gazing from
the car window--forgetting his luncheon-dreaming.

When he got back to his compartment he rang vigorously for the
porter.  A coin was carelessly displayed in his fingers.  "Do you
suppose you could find out who has the next compartment, porter?"

"I don't know their name, sub, but they's goin' to New York jis
as fas' as they can git thuh.  I ain' ax um no questions, 'cause
thuh's somethin' 'bout um makes me feel's if I ain' got no right
to look at um even."

The porter thought a moment.

"I don' believe it'll do yuh any good, suh, to try to shine up to
tha' young lady.  She ain' the sawt, I can tell yuh that.  I done
see too many guhls in ma time--"

"What are you talking about?  I'm not trying to shine up to her.
I only want to know who she is--just out of curiosity."
Grenfall's face was a trifle red.

"Beg pahdon, suh; but I kind o' thought you was like orh'
gent'men when they see a han'some woman.  Allus wants to fin' out
somethin' 'bout huh, suh, yuh know.  'Scuse me foh misjedgin'
yuh, suh.  Th' lady in question is a foh'ner--she lives across
th' ocean, 's fuh as I can fin' out.  They's in a hurry to git
home foh some reason, 'cause they ain' goin' to stop this side o'
New York, 'cept to change cahs."

"Where do they change cars?"

"St. Louis--goin' by way of Cincinnati an' Washin'ton."

Grenfall's ticket carried him by way of Chicago.  He caught
himself wondering if he could exchange his ticket in St. Louis.

"Traveling with her father and mother, I suppose?"

"No, suh; they's huh uncle and aunt.  I heah huh call 'em uncle
an' aunt.  Th' ole gent'man is Uncle Caspar.  I don' know what
they talk 'bout.  It's mostly some foh'en language.  Th' young
lady allus speaks Amehican to me, but th' old folks cain't talk
it ver' well.  They all been to Frisco, an' the hired he'p they's
got with 'em say they been to Mexico, too.  Th' young lady's got
good Amehican dollahs, don' care wha' she's been.  She allus
smiles when she ask me to do anythin', an' I wouldn' care if she
nevah tipped me, 's long as she smiles thataway."

"Servants with them, you say?"

"Yas, suh; man an' woman, nex' section t'other side the ole
folks.  Cain't say mor'n fifteen words in Amehican.  Th' woman is
huh maid, an' the man he's th' genial hustler fer th' hull
pahty."

"And you don't know her name?"

"No, sun, an' I cain't ver' well fin' out."

"In what part of Europe does she live?"

"Australia, I think, suh."

"You mean Austria."

"Do I?  'Scuse ma ig'nance.  I was jis' guessin' at it anyhow;
one place's as good as 'nother ovah thuh, I reckon."

"Have you one of those dollars she gave you?"

"Yes, sub.  Heh's a coin that ain' Amehican, but she says it's
wuth seventy cents in our money.  It's a foh'en piece.  She tell
me to keep it till I went ovah to huh country; then I could have
a high time with it--that's what she says--'a high time'--an'
smiled kind o" knowin' like."

"Let me see that coin," said Lorry, eagerly taking the silver
piece from the porter's hand.  "I never saw one like it before.
Greek, it looks to me, but I can't make a thing out of these
letters.  She gave it to you?"

"Yas, suh--las' evenin'.  A high time on seventy cents!  That's
reediculous, ain't it?" demanded the porter scornfully.

"I'll give you a dollar for it.  You can have a higher time on
that."

The odd little coin changed owners immediately, and the new
possessor dropped it into his pocket with the inward conviction
that he was the silliest fool in existence.  After the porter's
departure he took the coin from his pocket, and, with his back to
the door, his face to the window, studied its lettering.

During the afternoon he strolled about the train, his hand
constantly jingling the coins.  He passed her compartment several
times, yet refrained from looking in.  But he wondered if she saw
him pass.

At one little station a group of Indian bear hunters created
considerable interest among the passengers.  Grenfall was down at
the station platform at once, looking over a great stack of game.
As he left the car he met Uncle Caspar, who was hurrying toward
his niece's section.  A few moments later she came down the
steps, followed by the dignified old gentleman.  Grenfall tingled
with a strange delight as she moved quite close to his side in
her desire to see.  Once he glanced at her face; there was a
pretty look of fear in her eyes as she surveyed the massive bears
and the stark, stiff antelopes.  But she laughed as she turned
away with her uncle.

Grenfall was smoking his cigarette and vigorously jingling the
coins in his pocket when the train pulled out.  Then he swung on
the car steps and found himself at her feet.  She was standing at
the top, where she had lingered a moment.  There was an
expression of anxiety, in her eyes as he looked up into them,
followed instantly by one of relief.  Then she passed into the
car.  She had seen him swing upon the moving steps and had feared
for his safety--had shown in her glorious face that she was glad
he did not fall beneath the wheels.  Doubtless she would have
been as solicitous had he been the porter or the brakeman, he
reasoned, but that she had noticed him at all pleased him.

At Abilene he bought the Kansas City newspapers.  After breakfast
he found a seat in the observation car and settled himself to
read.  Presently some one took a seat behind him.  He did not
look back, but unconcernedly cast his eyes upon the broad mirror
in the opposite car wall.  Instantly he forgot his paper.  She
was sitting within five feet of him, a book in her lap, her gaze
bent briefly on the flitting buildings outside.  He studied the
reflection furtively until she took up the book and began to read.
Up to this time he had wondered why some nonsensical idiot
had wasted looking-glasses on the walls of a railway coach;
 now he was thinking of him as a far-sighted man.

The first page of his paper was fairly alive with fresh and
important dispatches, chiefly foreign.  At length, after allowing
himself to become really interested in a Paris dispatch of some
international consequence, he turned his eyes again to the
mirror.  She was leaning slightly forward, holding the open book
in her lap, but reading, with straining eyes, an article in the
paper he held.

He calmly turned to the next page and looked leisurely over it.
Another glance, quickly taken, showed to him a disappointed frown
on the pretty face and a reluctant resumption of novel reading.
A few moments later he turned back to the first page, holding the
paper in such a position that she could not see, and, full of
curiosity, read every line of the foreign news, wondering what
had interested her.

Under ordinary circumstances Lorry would have offered her the
paper, and thought nothing more of it.  With her, however, there
was an air that made him hesitate.  He felt strangely awkward and
inexperienced beside her; precedents did not seem to count.  He
arose, tossed the paper over the back of the chair as if casting
it aside forever, and strolled to the opposite window and looked
out for a few moments, jingling his coins carelessly.  The jingle
of the pieces suggested something else to him.  His paper still
hung invitingly, upside down, as he had left it, on the chair,
and the lady was poring over her novel.  As he passed her he drew
his right hand from his pocket and a piece of money dropped to
the floor at her feet.  Then began an embarrassed search for the
coin--in the wrong direction, of course.  He knew precisely where
it had rolled, but purposely looked under the seats on the other
side of the car.  She drew her skirts aside and assisted in the
search.  Four different times he saw the little piece of money,
but did not pick it up.  Finally, laughing awkwardly, he began to
search on her side of the car.  Whereupon she rose and gave him
more room.  She became interested in the search and bent over to
scan the dark corners with eager eyes.  Their heads were very
close together more than once.  At last she uttered an
exclamation, and her hand went to the floor in triumph.  They
arose together, flushed and smiling.  She had the coin in her
hand.

"I have it," she said, gaily, a delicious foreign tinge to the
words.

"I thank you--" he began, holding out his hand as if in a dream
of ecstacy, but her eyes had fallen momentarily on the object of
their search.

"Oh!" she exclaimed, the prettiest surprise in the world coming
into her face.  It was a coin from her faraway homeland, and she
was betrayed into the involuntary exclamation.  Instantly,
however, she regained her composure and dropped the piece into
his outstretched hand, a proud flush mounting to her cheek, a
look of cold reserve to her eyes.  He had, hoped she would offer
some comment on what she must have considered a strange
coincidence, but he was disappointed.  He wondered if she even
heard him say:

"I am sorry to have troubled you."

She had resumed her seat, and, to him, there seemed a thousand
miles between them.  Feeling decidedly uncomfortable and not a
little abashed, he left her and strode to the door.  Again a
mirror gave him a thrill.  This time it was the glass in the
car's end.  He had taken but a half dozen steps when the brown
head was turned slyly and a pair of interested eyes looked after
him.  She did not know that he could see her, so he had the
satisfaction of observing that pretty, puzzled face plainly until
he passed through the door.

Grenfall had formed many chance acquaintances during his travels,
sometimes taking risks and liberties that were refreshingly bold.
He had seldom been repulsed, strange to say, and as he went to
his section dizzily, he thought of the good fortune that had been
his in other attempts, and asked himself why it had not occurred
to him to make the same advances in the present instance.
Somehow she was different.  There was that strange dignity, that
pure beauty, that imperial manner, all combining to forbid the
faintest thought of familiarity.

He was more than astonished at himself for having tricked her a
few moments before into a perfectly natural departure from
indifference.  She had been so reserved and so natural that he
looked back and asked himself what had happened to flatter his
vanity except a passing show of interest.  With this, he smiled
and recalled similar opportunities in days gone by, all of which
had been turned to advantage and had resulted in amusing
pastimes.  And here was a pretty girl with an air of mystery
about her, worthy of his best efforts, but toward whom he had not
dared to turn a frivolous eye.

He took out the coin and leaned back in his chair, wondering
where it came from.  "In any case," he thought, "it'll make a
good pocket-piece and some day I'll find some idiot who knows
more about geography than I do."  Mr. Lorry's own ideas of
geography were jumbled and vague--as if he had got them by
studying the labels on his hat-box.  He knew the places he had
been to, and he recognized a new country by the annoyances of the
customs house, but beyond this his ignorance was complete.  The
coin, so far as he knew, might have come from any one of a
hundred small principalities scattered about the continent.  Yet
it bothered him a little that he could not tell which one.  He
was more than curious about a very beautiful young woman--in
fact, he was, undeniably interested in her.  He pleasantly called
himself an "ass" to have his head turned by a pretty face, a
foreign accent and an insignificant coin, and yet he was
fascinated.

Before the train reached St.  Louis he made up his mind to change
cars there and go to Washington with her.  It also occurred to
him that he might go on to New York if the spell lasted.  During
the day he telegraphed ahead for accommodations; and when the
flyer arrived in St. Louis that evening he hurriedly attended to
the transferring and rechecking of his baggage, bought a new
ticket, and dined.  At eight he was in the station, and at 8:15
he passed her in the aisle.  She was standing in her stateroom
door, directing her maid.  He saw a look of surprise flit across
her face as he passed.  He slept soundly that night, and dreamed
that he was crossing the ocean with her.

At breakfast he saw her, but if she saw him it was when he was
not looking at her.  Once he caught Uncle Caspar staring at him
through his monocle, which dropped instantly from his eye in the
manner that is always self-explanatory.  She had evidently called
the uncle's attention to him, but was herself looking sedately
from the window when Lorry unfortunately spoiled the scrutiny.
His spirits took a furious bound with the realization that she
had deigned to honor him by recognition, if only to call
attention to him because he possessed a certain coin.

Once the old gentleman asked him the time of day and set his
watch according to the reply.  In Ohio the manservant scowled at
him because he involuntarily stared after his mistress as she
paced the platform while the train waited at a station.  Again,
in Ohio, they met in the vestibule, and he was compelled to step
aside to allow her to pass.  He did not feel particularly
jubilant over this meeting; she did not even glance at him.

Lorry realized that his opportunities were fast disappearing, and
that he did not seem to be any nearer meeting her than when they
started.  He had hoped to get Uncle Caspar into a conversation
and then use him, but Uncle Caspar was as distant as an iceberg.
"If there should be a wreck," Grenfall caught himself thinking,
"then my chance would come; but I don't see how Providence is
going to help me in any other way."

Near the close of the day, after they left St. Louis, the train
began to wind through the foothills of the Alleghenies.
Bellaire, Grafton and other towns were left behind, and they were
soon whirling up the steep mountain, higher and higher, through
tunnel after tunnel, nearer and nearer to Washington every
minute.  As they were pulling out of a little mining town built
on the mountain side, a sudden jar stopped the train.  There was
some little excitement and a scramble for information.  Some part
of the engine was disabled, and it would be necessary to replace,
it before the "run" could proceed.

Lorry strolled up to the crowd of passengers who were watching
the engineer and fireman at work.  A clear, musical voice, almost
in his ear, startled him, for he knew to whom it belonged.  She
addressed the conductor, who, impatient and annoyed, stood
immediately behind him.

"How long are we to be delayed?" she asked.  Just two minutes
before this same conductor had responded most ungraciously to a
simple question Lorry had asked and had gone so far as to
instruct another inquisitive traveler to go to a warmer climate
because he persisted in asking for information which could not be
given except by a clairvoyant.  But now he answered in most
affable tones:
"We'll be here for thirty minutes, at least, Miss--perhaps
longer."
She walked away, after thanking him, and Grenfall looked at his
watch.

Off the main street of the town ran little lanes leading to the
mines below.  They all ended at the edge of a steep declivity.
There was a drop of almost four hundred feet straight into the
valley below.  Along the sides of this valley were the entrances
to the mines.  Above, on the ledge, was the machinery for lifting
the ore to the high ground on which stood the town and railroad
yards.

Down one of these streets walked the young lady, curiously
interested in all about her.  She seemed glad to escape from the
train and its people, and she hurried along, the fresh spring
wind blowing her hair from beneath her cap, the ends of her long
coat fluttering.

Lorry stood on the platform watching her; then he lighted a
cigarette and followed.  He had a vague feeling that she ought
not to be alone with all the workmen.  She started to come back
before he reached her, however, and he turned again toward the
station.  Then he heard a sudden whistle, and a minute later from
the end of the street he saw the train pulling out.  Lorry had
rather distinguished himself in college as a runner, and
instinctively he dashed up the street, reaching the tracks just
in time to catch the railing of the last coach.  But there he
stopped and stood with thumping heart while the coaches slid
smoothly up the track, leaving him behind.  He remembered he was
not the only one left, and he panted and smiled.  It occurred to
him--when it was too late--that he might have got on the train
and pulled the rope or called the conductor, but that was out of
the question now.  After all, it might not be such a merry game
to stay in that filthy little town; it did not follow that she
would prove friendly.

A few moments later she appeared--wholly unconscious of what had
happened.  A glance down the track and her face was the picture
of despair.

Then she saw him coming toward her with long strides, flushed and
excited.  Regardless of appearances, conditions or consequences,
she hurried to meet him.

"Where is the train?" she gasped, as the distance between them
grew short, her blue eyes seeking his beseechingly, her hands
clasped.

"It has gone."

"Gone?  And we--we are left?"

He nodded, delighted by the word "we."

"The conductor said thirty minutes; it has been but twenty," she
cried, half tearfully, half angrily, looking at her watch.  "Oh,
what shall I do?" she went on, distractedly.  He had enjoyed the
sweet, despairing tones, but this last wail called for manly and
instant action.

"Can we catch the train?  We must!  I will give one thousand
dollars.  I must catch it."  She had placed her gloved hand
against a telegraph pole to steady her trembling, but her face
was resolute, imperious, commanding.

She was ordering him to obey as she would have commanded a slave.
In her voice there was authority, in her eye there was fear.  She
could control the one but not the other.

"We cannot catch the flyer.  I want to catch it as much as you
and"--here he straightened himself--"I would add a thousand to
yours."  He hesitated a moment-thinking.  "There is but one way,
and no time to lose."

With this he turned and ran rapidly toward the little depot and
telegraph office.



II

TWO STRANGERS IN A COACH


Lorry wasted very little time.  He dashed into the depot and up
to the operator's window.

"What's the nearest station east of here?"

"P----," leisurely answered the agent, in some surprise.

"How far is it?"

'Four miles."

"Telegraph ahead and hold the train that just left here."

"The train don't stop there."

"It's got to stop there--or there'll be more trouble than this
road has had since it began business.  The conductor pulled out
and left two of his passengers--gave out wrong information, and
he'll have to hold his train there or bring her back here.  If
you don't send that order I'll report you as well as the
conductor."  Grenfall's manner was commanding.  The agent's
impression was that he was important that he had a right to give
orders.  But he hesitated.

"There's no way for you but to get to P---- anyway," he said,
while turning the matter over in his mind.

"You stop that train!  I'll get there inside of twenty minutes.
Now, be quick!  Wire them to hold her--or there'll be an order
from headquarters for some ninety-day lay-offs."  The agent
stared at him; then turned to his instrument, and the message
went forward.  Lorry rushed out.  On the platform he nearly ran
over the hurrying figure in the tan coat.

"Pardon me.  I'll explain things in a minute," he gasped, and
dashed away.  Her troubled eyes blinked with astonishment.

At the end of the platform stood a mountain coach, along the
sides of which was printed in yellow letters: "Happy Springs."
The driver was climbing up to his seat and the cumbersome trap
was empty.

"Want to make ten dollars?" cried Grenfall.

"What say?" demanded the driver, half falling to the ground.

"Get me to P---- inside of twenty minutes, and I'll give you ten
dollars.  Hurry up!  Answer!"

"Yes, but, you see, I'm hired to--"

"Oh, that's all right!  You'll never make money easier.  Can you
get us there in twenty minutes?"

"It's four mile, pardner, and not very good road, either.  Pile
in, and we'll make it er kill old Hip and Jim.  Miss the train?"

"Get yourself ready for a race with an express train and don't
ask questions.  Kill 'em both if you have to.  I'll be back in a
second!"

Back to the station he tore.  She was standing near the door,
looking up the track miserably.  Already night was falling.  Men
were lighting the switch lanterns and the mountains were turning
into great dark shadows.

"Come quickly; I have a wagon out here."

Resistlessly she was hurried along and fairly shoved through the
open door of the odd-looking coach.  He was beside her on the
seat in an instant, and her bewildered ears heard him say:

"Drive like the very deuce!"  Then the door slammed, the driver
clattered up to his seat, and the horses were off with a rush.

"Where are we going?" she demanded, sitting very straight and
defiant.

"After that train--I'll tell you all about it when I get my
breath.  This is to be the quickest escape from a dilemma on
record--providing it is an escape."  By this time they were
bumping along the flinty road at a lively rate, jolting about on
the seat in a most disconcerting manner.  After a few long, deep
breaths he told her how the ride in the Springs hack had been
conceived and of the arrangement he had made with the despatcher.
He furthermore acquainted her with the cause of his being left
when he might have caught the train.

"Just as I reached the track, out of breath but rejoicing, I
remembered having seen you on that side street, and knew that you
would be left.  It would have been heartless to leave you here
without protection, so I felt it my duty to let the train go and
help you out of a very ugly predicament."

"How can I ever repay you?" she murmured.  "It was so good and so
thoughtful of you.  Oh, I should have died had I been left here
alone.  Do you not think my uncle will miss me and have the train
sent back?" she went on sagely.

"That's so!" he exclaimed, somewhat disconcerted.  "But I don't
know, either.  He may not miss you for a long time, thinking you
are in some other car, you know.  That could easily happen,"
triumphantly.

"Can this man get us to the next station in time?" she
questioned, looking at the black mountains and the dense foliage.
It was now quite dark.

"If he doesn't bump us to death before we get half way there.
He's driving like the wind."

"You must let me pay half his bill," she said, decidedly, from
the dark corner in which she was huddling.

He could find no response to this peremptory request.

"The road is growing rougher.  If you will allow me to make a
suggestion, I think you will see its wisdom.  You can escape a
great deal of ugly jostling if you will take hold of my arm and
cling to it tightly.  I will brace myself with this strap.  I am
sure it will save you many hard bumps."

Without a word she moved to his side and wound her strong little
arm about his big one.

"I had thought of that," she said, simply.  "Thank you."  Then,
after a moment, while his heart thumped madly: "Had it occurred
to you that after you ran so hard you might have climbed aboard
the train and ordered the conductor to stop it for me?"

"I--I never thought of that?" he cried, confusedly.

"Please do not think me ungrateful.  You have been very good to
me, a stranger.  One often thinks afterward of things one might
have done, don't you know?  You did the noblest when you
inconvenienced yourself for me.  What trouble I have made for
you."  She said this so prettily that he came gaily from the
despondency into which her shrewdness, bordering on criticism,
had thrown him.  He knew perfectly well that she was questioning
his judgment and presence of mind, and, the more he thought of
it, the more transparent became the absurdity of his action.

"It has been no trouble," he floundered "An adventure like this
is worth no end of--er--inconvenience, as you call it.  I'm sure
I must have lost my head completely, and I am ashamed of myself.
How much anxiety I could have saved you had I been possessed of
an ounce of brains!"

"Hush!  I will not allow you to say that.  You would have me
appear ungrateful when I certainly am not.  Ach, how he is
driving!  Do you think it dangerous?" she cried, as the hack gave
two or three wild lurches, throwing him into the corner, and the
girl half upon him.

"Not in the least," he gasped, the breath knocked out of his
body.  Just the same, he was very much alarmed.  It was as dark
as pitch outside and in, and he could not help wondering how near
the edge of the mountain side they were running.  A false move of
the flying horses and they might go rolling to the bottom of the
ravine, hundreds of feet below.  Still, he must not let her see
his apprehension.  "This fellow is considered the best driver in
the mountains," he prevaricated.  Just then he remembered having
detected liquor on the man's breath as he closed the door behind
him.  Perhaps he was intoxicated!

"Do you know him?" questioned the clear voice, her lips close to
his ear, her warm body pressing against his.

"Perfectly.  He is no other than Lighthorse Jerry, the king of
stage drivers."  In the darkness he smiled to himself
maliciously.

"Oh, then we need feel no alarm," she said, reassured, not
knowing that Jerry existed only in the yellow-backed novel her
informant had read when a boy.

There was such a roaring and clattering that conversation became
almost impossible.  When either spoke it was with the mouth close
to the ear of the other.  At such times Grenfall could feel her
breath on his cheek, Her sweet voice went tingling to his toes
with every word she uttered.  He was in a daze, out of which sung
the mad wish that he might clasp her in his arms, kiss her, and
then go tumbling down the mountain.  She trembled in the next
fierce lurches, but gave forth no complaint.  He knew that she
was in terror but too brave to murmur.

Unable to resist, he released the strap to which he had clung so
grimly, and placed his strong, firm hand encouragingly over the
little one that gripped his arm with the clutch of death.  It was
very dark and very lonely, too!

"Oh!" she cried, as his hand clasped hers.  "You must hold to the
strap."

"It is broken!" he lied, gladly, "There is no danger.  See!  My
hand does not tremble, does it?  Be calm!  It cannot be much
farther."

"Will it not be dreadful if the conductor refuses to stop?" she
cried, her hand resting calmly beneath its protector.  He
detected a tone of security in her voice.

"But he will stop!  Your uncle will see to that, even if the
operator fails."

"My uncle will kill him if he does not stop or come back for me,"
she said, complacently.

"I was mot wrong," thought Grenfall; "he looks like a duelist.
Who the devil are they, anyhow?"  Then aloud: "At this rate we'd
be able to beat the train to Washington in a straight-away race.
Isn't it a delightfully wild ride?"

"I have acquired a great deal of knowledge in America, but this
is the first time I have heard your definition of delight.  I
agree that it is wild."

For some moments there was silence in the noisy conveyance.
Outside, the crack of the driver's whip, his hoarse cries, and
the nerve-destroying crash of the wheels produced impressions of
a mighty storm rather than of peace and pleasure.

"I am curious to know where you obtained the coin you lost in the
car yesterday," she said at last, as if relieving her mind of a
question that had been long subdued.

"The one you so kindly found for me?" he asked,
procrastinatingly.

"Yes.  They are certainly rare in this country."

"I never saw a coin like it until after I had seen you," he
confessed.  He felt her arm press his a, little tighter, and
there was a quick movement of her head which told him, dark as it
was, that she was trying to see his face and that her blue eyes
were wide with something more than terror.

"I do not understand," she exclaimed.

"I obtained the coin from a sleeping-car porter who said some one
gave it to him and told him to have a 'high time' with it," he
explained in her ear.

"He evidently did not care for the 'high time,'" she said, after
a moment.  He would have given a fortune for one glimpse of her
face at that instant.

"I think he said it would be necessary to go to Europe in order
to follow the injunction of the donor.  As I am more likely to go
to Europe than he, I relieved him of the necessity and bought his
right to a 'high time.'"

There was a long pause, during which she attempted to withdraw
herself from his side, her little fingers struggling timidly
beneath the big ones.

"Are you a collector of coins?" she asked at length, a
perceptible coldness in her voice.

"No.  I am considered a dispenser of coins.  Still, I rather like
the idea of possessing this queer bit of money as a pocket-piece.
I intend to keep it forever, and let it descend as an heirloom to
the generations that follow me," he said, laughingly.  "Why are
you so curious about it?"

"Because it comes from the city and country in which I live," she
responded.  "If you were in a land far from your own would you
not be interested in anything--even a coin--that reminded you of
home?"

"Especially if I had not seen one of its kind since leaving
home," he replied, insinuatingly.

"Oh, but I have seen many like it.  In my purse there are several
at this minute."

"Isn't it strange that this particular coin should have reminded
you of home?"

"You have no right to question me, sir," she said, coldly,
drawing away, only to be lurched back again.  In spite of herself
she laughed audibly.

"I beg your pardon," he said, tantalizingly.

"When did he give it you?"

"Who?"

"The porter, sir."

"You have no right to question me," he said.

"Oh!" she gasped.  "I did not mean to be inquisitive."

"But I grant the right.  He gave it me inside of two hours after
I first entered the car."

"At Denver?"

"How do you know I got on at Denver?'

"Why, you passed me in the aisle with your luggage.  Don't you
remember?"

Did he remember!  His heart almost turned over with the joy of
knowing that she had really noticed and remembered him.
Involuntarily his glad fingers closed down upon the gloved hand
that lay beneath them.

"I believe I do remember, now that you speak of it," he said, in
a stifled voice.  "You were standing at a window?"

"Yes; and I saw you kissing those ladies goodby, too.  Was one of
them your wife, or were they all your sisters?  I have wondered."

"They--they were--cousins," he informed her, confusedly,
recalling an incident that had been forgotten.  He had kissed
Mary Lyons and Edna Burrage--but their brothers were present.  "A
foolish habit, isn't it?"

"I do not know.  I have no grown cousins," she replied, demurely.
"You Americans have such funny customs, though.  Where I live, no
gentleman would think of pressing a lady's hand until it pained
her.  Is it necessary?"  In the question there was a quiet
dignity, half submerged in scorn, so pointed, so unmistakable
that he flushed, turned cold with mortification, and hastily
removed the amorous fingers.

"I crave your pardon.  It is such a strain to hold myself and you
against the rolling of this wagon that I unconsciously gripped
your hand harder than I knew.  You--you will not misunderstand my
motive?" he begged, fearful lest he had offended her by his
ruthlessness.

"I could not misunderstand something that does not exist," she
said, simply, proudly.

"By Jove, she's beyond comparison!" he thought.

"You have explained, and I am sorry I spoke as I did.  I shall
not again forget how much I owe you."

"Your indebtedness, if there be one, does not deprive you of the
liberty to speak to me as you will.  You could not say anything
unjust without asking my forgiveness, and when you do that you
more than pay the debt.  It is worth a great deal to me to hear
you say that you owe something to me, for I am only too glad to
be your creditor.  If there is a debt, you shall never pay it; it
is too pleasant an account to be settled with 'you're welcome.'
If you insist that you owe much to me, I shall refuse to cancel
the debt, and allow it to draw interest forever."

"What a financier!" she cried.  "That jest yeas worthy of a
courtier's deepest flattery.  Let me say that I am proud to owe
my gratitude to you.  You will not permit it to grow less."

"That was either irony or the prettiest speech a woman ever
uttered," he said, warmly.  "I also am curious about something.
You were reading over my shoulder in the observation car--"
"I was not!" she exclaimed, indignantly.  "How did you know
that?" she inconsistently went on.

"You forget the mirror in the opposite side of the car."

"Ach, now I am offended."

"With a poor old mirror?  For shame!  Yet, in the name of our
American glass industry, I ask your forgiveness.  It shall not
happen again.  You will admit that you were trying to read over
my shoulder.  Thanks for that immutable nod.  Well, I am curious
to know what you were so eager to read."

"Since you presume to believe the mirror instead of me, I will
tell you.  There was a despatch on the first page that interested
me deeply."

"I believe I thought as much at the time.  Oh, confound this
road!" For half a mile or more the road had been fairly level,
but, as the ejaculation indicates, a rough place had been
reached.  He was flung back in the corner violently, his head
coming in contact with a sharp projection of some kind.  The pain
was almost unbearable, but it was eased by the fact that she had
involuntarily thrown her arm across his chest, her hand grasping
his shoulder spasmodically.

"Oh, we shall be killed!" she half shrieked.  "Can you not stop
him?  This is madness--madness!"

"Pray be calm!  I was to blame, for I had become careless.  He is
earning his money, that's all.  It was not stipulated in the
contract that he was to consider the comfort of his passengers."
Grenfall could feel himself turn pale as something warm began to
trickle down his neck.  "Now tell me which despatch it was.  I
read all of them."

"You did?  Of what interest could they have been?"

"Curiosity does not recognize reason."

"You read every one of them?"

"Assuredly."

"Then I shall grant you the right to guess which interested me
the most.  You Americans delight in puzzles, I am told."

"Now, that is unfair."

"So it is.  Did you read the despatch from Constantinople?"  Her
arm fell to her side suddenly as if she had just realized its
position.

"The one that told of the French ambassador's visit to the
Sultan?"

"Concerning the small matter of a loan of some millions--yes.
Well, that was of interest to me inasmuch as the loan, if made,
will affect my country."

"Will you tell me what country you are from?"

"I am from Graustark."

"Yes; but I don't remember where that is."

"Is it possible that your American schools do not teach
geography?  Ours tell us where the United States are located."

"I confess ignorance," he admitted.

"Then I shall insist that you study a map.  Graustark is small,
but I am as proud of it as you are of this great broad country
that reaches from ocean to ocean.  I can scarcely wait until I
again see our dear crags and valleys, our rivers and ever-blue
skies, our plains and our towns.  I wonder if you worship your
country as I love mine."

"From the tenor of your remarks, I judge that you have been away
from home for a long time," he volunteered.

"We have seen something of Asia, Australia, Mexico and the United
States since we left Edelweiss, six months ago.  Now we are going
home--home!"  She uttered the word so lovingly, so longingly, so
tenderly, that he envied the homeland.

There was a long break in the conversation, both evidently
wrapped in thought which could not be disturbed by the whirl of
the coach.  He was wondering how he could give her up, now that
she had been tossed into his keeping so strangely.  She was
asking herself over and over again how so thrilling an adventure
would end.

They were sore and fatigued with the strain on nerve and flesh.
It was an experience never to be forgotten, this romantic race
over the wild mountain road, the result still in doubt.  Ten
minutes ago--strangers; now--friends at least, neither knowing
the other.  She was admiring him for his generalship, his
wonderful energy; he was blessing the fate that had come to his
rescue when hope was almost dead.  He could scarcely realize that
he was awake.  Could it be anything but a vivid fancy from which
he was to awaken and find himself alone in his berth, the
buzzing, clacking carwheels piercing his ears with sounds so
unlike those that had been whispered into them by a voice, sweet
and maddening, from out the darkness of a dreamland cab?


"Surely we must be almost at the end of this awful ride," she
moaned, yielding completely to the long suppressed alarm.  "Every
bone in my body aches.  What shall we do if they have not held
the train?"

"Send for an undertaker," he replied grimly, seeing policy in
jest.  They were now ascending an incline, bumping over boulders,
hurtling through treacherous ruts and water-washed holes,
rolling, swinging, jerking, crashing.  "You have been brave all
along; don't give up now.  It is almost over.  You'll soon be
with your friends."

"How can I thank you"' she cried, gripping his arm once more.
Again his hand dropped upon hers and closed gently.

"I wish that I could do a thousand times as much for you," he
said, thrillingly, her disheveled hair touching his face so close
were his lips.  "Ah, the lights of the town!" he cried an instant
later.  "Look!"

He held her so that she could peer through the rattling glass
window.  Close at hand, higher up the steep, many lights were
twinkling ling against tile blackness,

Almost before they realized how near they were to the lights, the
horses began to slacken their speed, a moment later coming to a
standstill.  The awful ride was over.

"The train!  the train!" she cried, in ecstacy.  "Here, on the
other side.  Thank heaven!"

He could not speak for the joyful pride that distended his heart
almost to bursting.  The coach door flew open, and Light-horse
Jerry yelled:

"Here y'are!  I made her!"

"I should say you did!" exclaimed Grenfall, climbing out and
drawing her after him gently.  "Here's your ten."

"I must send you something, too, my good fellow," cried the lady.
"What is your address--quick?"

"William Perkins, O----, West Virginny, ma'am."

Lorry was dragging her toward the cars as the driver completed
the sentence.  Several persons were running down the platform,
dimly lighted from the string of car windows She found time to
pant as they sped along:

"He was not Light-horse Jerry, at all!"




III

MISS GUGGENSLOCKER


He laughed, looking down into her serious upturned face.  A brief
smile of understanding flitted across her lips as she broke away
from him and threw herself into the arms of tall, excited Uncle
Caspar.  The conductor, several trainmen and a few eager
passengers came up, the former crusty and snappish.

"Well, get aboard!" he growled.  "We can't wait all night."

The young lady looked up quickly, her sensitive face cringing
beneath the rough command.  Lorry stepped instantly to the
conductor's side, shook his finger vigorously under his nose, and
exclaimed in no uncertain tones:

"Now, that's enough from you!  If I hear another word out of you,
I'll make you sweat blood before tomorrow morning.  Understand,
my friend."

"Aw, who are you?" demanded the conductor, belligerently.

"You'll learn that soon enough.  After this you'll have sense
enough to find out whom you are talking to before you open that
mouth of yours.  Not another word!"  Mr. Grenfall Lorry was not
president of the road, nor was he in any way connected with it,
but his well assumed air of authority caused the trainman's ire
to dissolve at once.

"Excuse me, sir.  I've been worried to death on this run.  I
meant no offence.  That old gentleman has threatened to kill me.
Just now he took out his watch and said if I did not run back for
his niece in two minutes he'd call me out and run me through.
I've been nearly crazy here.  For the life of me, I don't see how
you happened to be--"

"Oh, that's all right.  Let's be off," cried Lorry, who had
fallen some distance behind his late companion and her uncle.
Hurrying after them, he reached her side in time to assist her in
mounting the car steps.

"Thank you," smiling down upon him bewitchingly.  At the top of
the steps she was met by her aunt, behind whom stood the anxious
man-servant and the maid.  Into the coach she was drawn by the
relieved old lady, who was critically inspecting her personal
appearance when Lorry and the foreigner entered.

"Ach, it was so wild and exhilarating, Aunt Yvonne," the girl was
saying, her eyes sparkling.  She stood straight and firm, her
chin in the air, her hands in those of her aunt.  The little
traveling cap was on the side of her head, her hair was loose and
very much awry, strands straying here, curls blowing there in
utter confusion.  Lorry fairly gasped with admiration for the
loveliness that would not be vanquished.

"We came like the wind!  I shall never, never forge: it," she
said.

"But how could you have remained there, child?  Tell me how it
happened.  We have been frantic," said her aunt, half in English,
half in German.

"Not now, dear Aunt Yvonne.  See my hair!  What a fright I must
be!  Fortunate man, your hair cannot be so unruly as mine.  Oh!"
The exclamation was one of alarm.  In an instant she was at his
side, peering with terrified eyes at the bloodstains on his neck
and face.  "It is blood!  You are hurt!  Uncle Caspar, Hedrick
--quick!  Attend him!  Come to my room at once.  You are
suffering.  Minna, find bandages!"

She dragged him to the door of her section before he could
interpose a remonstrance.

"It is nothing--a mere scratch.  Bumped my head against the side
of the coach.  Please don't worry about it; I can care for
myself.  Really, it doesn't--"

"But it does!  It has bled terribly.  Sit there!  Now, Hedrick,
some water."

Hedrick rushed off and was back in a moment with a basin of
water, a sponge and a towel, and before Grenfall fully knew what
was happening, the man-servant was bathing his head, the others
looking on anxiously, the young lady apprehensively, her hands
clasped before her as she bent over to inspect the wound above
his ear.

"It is quite an ugly cut," said Uncle Caspar, critically.  "Does
it pain you, sir?"

"Oh, not a great deal," answered Lorry, closing his eyes
comfortably.  It was all very pleasant, he thought.

"Should it not have stitches, Uncle Caspar?" asked the sweet,
eager voice.

"I think not.  The flow is staunched.  If the gentleman will
allow Hedrick to trim the hair away for a plaster and then
bandage it I think the wound will give him no trouble."  The old
man spoke slowly and in very good English.

"Really, Uncle, is it not serious?"

"No, no," interposed Grenfall Lorry.  "I knew it was a trifle.
You cannot break an American's head.  Let me go to my own section
and I'll be ready to present myself, as good as new, in ten
minutes."

"You must let Hedrick bandage your head," she insisted.  "Go with
him, Hedrick."

Grenfall arose and started toward his section, followed by
Hedrick.

"I trust you were not hurt during that reckless ride," he said,
more as a question, stopping in the aisle to look back at her.

"I should have been a mass of bruises, gashes and lumps had it
not been for one thing," she said, a faint flush coming to her
cheek, although her eyes looked unfalteringly into his.  "Will
you join us in the dining car?  I will have a place prepared for
you at our table."

"Thank you.  You are very good.  I shall join you as soon as I am
presentable."

"We are to be honored, sir," said the old gentleman, but in such
a way that Grenfall had a distinct feeling that it was he who was
to be honored.  Aunt Yvonne smiled graciously, and he took his
departure.  While Hedrick was dressing the jagged little cut,
Grenfall complacently surveyed the patient in the mirror
opposite, and said to himself a hundred times: "You lucky dog!
It was worth forty gashes like this.  By Jove, she's divine!"

In a fever of eager haste he bathed and attired himself for
dinner, the imperturbable Hedrick assisting.  One query filled
the American's mind: "I wonder if I am to sit beside her."  And
then: "I have sat beside her!  There can never again be such
delight!"

It was seven o'clock before his rather unusual toilet was
completed.  "See if they have gone to the diner, Hedrick," he
said to the man-servant, who departed ceremoniously.

"I don't know why he should be so damned polite," observed Lorry,
gazing wonderingly after him.  "I'm not a king.  That reminds me.
I must introduce myself.  She doesn't know me from Adam."

Hedrick returned and announced that they had just gone to the
dining car and were awaiting him there.  He hurried to the diner
and made his way to their table.  Uncle Caspar and his niece were
facing him as he came up between the tables, and he saw, with no
little regret, that he was to sit beside the aunt--directly
opposite the girl, however.  She smiled up at him as he stood
before them, bowing.  He saw the expression of inquiry in those
deep, liquid eyes of violet as their gaze wandered over his hair.

"Your head?  I see no bandage," she said, reproachfully.

"There is a small plaster and that is all.  Only heroes may have
dangerous wounds," he said, laughingly.

"Is heroism in America measured by the number of stitches or the
size of the plaster?" she asked, pointedly.  "In my country it is
a joy, and not a calamity.  Wounds are the misfortune of valor.
Pray, be seated, Mr. Lorry is it not?" she said, pronouncing it
quaintly.

He sat down rather suddenly on hearing her utter his name.  How
had she learned it?  Not a soul on the train knew it, he was
sure.

"I am Caspar Guggenslocker.  Permit me, Mr. Lorry, to present my
wife and my niece, Miss Guggenslocker," said the uncle, more
gracefully than he had ever heard such a thing uttered before.

In a daze, stunned by the name,--Guggenslocker, mystified over
their acquaintance with his own when he had been foiled at every
fair attempt to learn theirs, Lorry could only mumble his
acknowledgments.  In all his life he had never lost command of
himself as at this moment.  Guggenslocker!  He could feel the
dank sweat of disappointment starting on his brow.  A butcher,--a
beer maker,--a cobbler,--a gardener,--all synonyms of
Guggenslocker.  A sausage manufacturer's niece--Miss
Guggenslocker!  He tried to glance unconcernedly at her as he
took up his napkin, but his eyes wavered helplessly.  She was
looking serenely at him, yet he fancied he saw a shadow of
mockery in her blue eyes.

"If you were a novel writer, Mr. Lorry, what manner of heroine
would you choose?" she asked, with a smile so tantalizing that he
understood instinctively why she was reviving a topic once
abandoned.  His confusion was increased.  Her uncle and aunt were
regarding him calmly,--expectantly, he imagined.

"I--I have no ambition to be a novel writer," he said, "so I have
not made a study of heroines."

"But you would have an ideal," she persisted.

"I'm sure I--I don't--that is, she would not necessarily be a
heroine.  Unless, of course, it would require heroism to pose as
an ideal for such a prosaic fellow as I."

"To begin with, you would call her Clarabel Montrose or something
equally as impossible.  You know the name of a heroine in a novel
must be euphonious.  That is an exacting rule.  "It was an open
taunt, and he could see that she was enjoying his discomfiture.
It aroused his indignation and his wits.

"I would first give my hero a distinguished name.  No matter what
the heroine's name might be--pretty or otherwise--I could easily
change it to his in the last chapter."  She flushed beneath his
now bright, keen eyes and the ready, though unexpected retort.
Uncle Caspar placed his napkin to his lips and coughed.  Aunt
Yvonne studiously inspected her bill of fare.  "No matter what
you call a rose, it is always sweet," he added, meaningly.

At this she laughed good-naturedly.  He marveled at her white
teeth and red lips.  A rose, after all.  Guggenslocker, rose;
rose, not Guggenslocker.  No, no!  A rose only!  He fancied he
caught a sly look of triumph in her uncle's swift glance toward
her.  But Uncle Caspar was not a rose--he was Guggenslocker.
Guggenslocker--butcher!  Still, he did not look the part--no,
indeed.  That extraordinary man a butcher, a gardener, a--and
Aunt Yvonne?  Yet they were Guggenslockers.

"Here is the waiter," the girl observed, to his relief.  "I am
famished after my pleasant drive.  It was so bracing, was it not
Mr. Grenfall Lorry?"

"Give me a mountain ride always as an appetizer," he said,
obligingly, and so ended the jest about a name.

The orders for the dinner were given and the quartette sat back
in their chairs to await the coming of the soup.  Grenfall was
still wondering how she had learned his name, and was on the
point of asking several times during the conventional discussion
of the weather, the train and the mountains.  He considerately
refrained, however, unwilling to embarrass her.

"Aunt Yvonne tells me she never expected to see me alive after
the station agent telegraphed that we were coming overland in
that awful old carriage.  The agent at P---- says it is a
dangerous road, at the very edge of the mountain.  He also
increased the composure of my uncle and aunt by telling them that
a wagon rolled off yesterday, killing a man, two women and two
horses.  Dear Aunt Yvonne, how troubled you must have been."

"I'll confess there were times when I thought we were rolling
down the mountain," said Lorry, with a relieved shake of the
head.

"Sometimes I thought we were soaring through space, whether
upward or downwards I could not tell.  We never failed to come to
earth, though, did we?" she laughingly asked.

"Emphatically!  Earth and a little grief," he said, putting his
hand to his head.

"Does it pain you?" she asked, quickly.

'Not in the least.  I was merely feeling to see if the cut were
still there.  Mr--Mr. Guggenslocker, did the conductor object to
holding the train?" he asked, remembering what the conductor had
told him of the old gentleman's actions.

"At first, but I soon convinced him that it should be held," said
the other, quietly.

"My husband spoke very harshly to the poor man," added Aunt
Yvonne.  "But, I am afraid, Caspar, he did not understand a word
you said.  You were very much excited."  The sweet old lady's
attempts at English were much more laborious than her husband's.

"If he did not understand my English, he was very good at
guessing," said her husband, grimly.

"He told me you had threatened to call him out," ventured the
young man.

"Call him out?  Ach, a railroad conductor!" exclaimed Uncle
Caspar, in fine scorn.

"Caspar, I heard you say that you would call him out," interposed
his wife, with reproving eyes.

"Ach, God!  God!  I have made a mistake!  I see it all!  It was
the other word I meant--down not out!  I intended to call him
down, as you Americans say.  I hope he will not think I
challenged him."  He was very much perturbed.

"I think he was afraid you would," said Lorry.

"He should have no fear.  I could not meet a railroad conductor.
Will you please tell him I could not so condescend?  Besides,
dueling is murder in your country, I am told."

"It usually is, sir.  Much more so than in Europe."  The others
looked at him inquiringly.  "I mean that in America when two men
pull their revolvers and go to shooting at each other, some one
is killed--frequently both.  In Europe, as I understand it, a
scratch with a sword ends the combat."

"You have been misinformed," exclaimed Uncle Caspar, his eyebrows
elevated.

"Why, Uncle Caspar has fought more duels than he can count,"
cried the girl, proudly.

"And has he slain his man every time?" asked Grenfall, smilingly,
glancing from one to the other.  Aunt Yvonne shot a reproving
look at the girl, whose face paled instantly, her eyes going
quickly in affright to the face of her uncle.

"God!" Lorry heard the old gentleman mutter.  He was looking at
his bill of fare, but his eyes were fixed and staring.  The card
was crumpling between the long, bony fingers.  The American
realized that a forbidden topic had been touched upon.

"He has fought and he has slain," he thought as quick as a flash,
"He is no butcher, no gardener, no cobbler.  That's certain!"

"Tell us, Uncle Caspar, what you said to the conductor," cried
the young lady, nervously.

"Tell them, Caspar, how alarmed we were," added soft-voiced Aunt
Yvonne.  Grenfall was a silent, interested spectator.  He somehow
felt as if a scene from some tragedy had been reproduced in that
briefest of moments.  Calmly and composedly, a half smile now in
his face, the soldierly Caspar narrated the story of the train's
run from one station to the other.

"We did not miss you until we had almost reached the other
station.  Then your Aunt Yvonne asked me where you had gone.  I
told her I had not seen you, but went into the coach ahead to
search.  You were not there.  Then I went on to the dining car.
Ach, you were not there.  In alarm I returned to our car.  Your
aunt and I looked everywhere.  You were not anywhere.  I shall
never forget your aunt's face when she sank into a chair, nor
shall I feel again so near like dying as when she suggested that
you might have fallen from the train.  I sent Hedrick ahead to
summon the conductor, but he had hardly left us when the engine
whistled sharply and the train began to slow up in a jerky
fashion.  We were very pale as we looked at each other, for
something told us that the stop was unusual.  I rushed to the
platform meeting Hedrick, who was as much alarmed as I.  He said
the train had been flagged, and that there must be something
wrong.  Your aunt came out and told me that she had made a
strange discovery."

Grenfall observed that he was addressing himself exclusively to
the young lady.

"She had found that the gentleman in the next section was also
missing.  While we were standing there in doubt and perplexity,
the train came to a standstill, and soon there was shouting on
the outside.  I climbed down from the car and saw that we were at
a little station.  The conductor came running toward me
excitedly.

"'Is the young lady in the car?' he asked.

"'No.  For Heaven's sake, what have you heard?'I cried.

"'Then she has been left at O----,' he exclaimed, and used some
very extraordinary American words.

"I then informed him that he should run back for you, first
learning that you were alive and well.  He said he would be
damned if he would--pardon the word, ladies.  He was very angry,
and said he would give orders to go ahead, but I told him I would
demand restitution of his government.  He laughed in my face, and
then I became shamelessly angry.  I said to him:

"'Sir, I shall call you down--not out, as you have said--and I
shall run you through the mill.'

"That was good American talk, sir, was it not, Mr. Lorry?  I
wanted him to understand me, so I tried to use your very best
language.  Some gentlemen who are traveling on this train and
some very excellent ladies also joined in the demand that the
train be held.  His despatch from O---- said that you, Mr. Lorry,
insisted on having it held for twenty minutes.  The conductor
insulted you, sir, by saying that you had more--ah, what is it?
--gall than any idiot he had ever seen.  When he said that,
although I did not fully understand that it was a reflection on
you, so ignorant am I of your language, I took occasion to tell
him that you were a gentleman and a friend of mine.  He asked me
your name, but, as I did not know it, I could only tell him that
he would learn it soon enough.  Then he said something which has
puzzled me ever since.  He told me to close my face.  What did he
mean by that, Mr. Lorry?"

"Well, Mr. Guggenslocker, that means, in refined American, 'stop
talking,'" said Lorry, controlling a desire to shout.

"Ach, that accounts for his surprise when I talked louder and
faster than ever.  I did not know what he meant.  He said
positively he would not wait, but just then a second message came
from the other station.  I did not know what it was then, but a
gentleman told me that it instructed him to hold the train if he
wanted to hold his job.  Job is situation, is it not?  Well, when
he read that message he said he would wait just twenty minutes.
I asked him to tell me how you were coming to us, but he refused
to answer.  Your aunt and I went at once to the telegraph man and
implored him to tell us the truth, and he said you were coming in
a carriage over a very dangerous road.  Imagine our feelings when
he said some people had been killed yesterday on that very road.

"He said you would have to drive like the--the very devil if you
got here in twenty minutes."

"We did, Uncle Caspar," interrupted Miss Guggenslocker, naively.
"Our driver followed Mr. Lorry's instructions."

Mr. Grenfall Lorry blushed and laughed awkwardly.  He had been
admiring her eager face and expressive eyes during Uncle Caspar's
recital.  How sweet her voice when it pronounced his name, how
charming the foreign flavor to the words.

"He would not have understood if I had said other things," he
explained, hastily.

"When your aunt and I returned to the train we saw the conductor
holding his watch.  He said to me: 'In just three minutes we pull
out.  If they are not here by that time they can get on the best
they know how.  I've done all I can: I did not say a word, but
went to my section and had Hedrick get out my pistols.  If the
train left before you arrived it would be without its conductor.
In the meantime, your Aunt Yvonne was pleading with the wretch.
I hastened back to his side with my pistols in my pocket.  It was
then that I told him to start his train if he dared.  That man
will never know how close he was to death.  One minute passed,
and he coolly announced that but one minute was left.  I had made
up my mind to give him one of my pistols when the time was up,
and to tell him to defend himself.  It was not to be a duel, for
there was nothing regular about it.  It was only a question as to
whether the train should move.  Then came the sound of carriage
wheels and galloping horses.  Almost before we knew it you were
with us.  I am so happy that you were not a minute later."

There was something so cool and grim in the quiet voice,
something so determined in those brilliant eyes, that Grenfall
felt like looking up the conductor to congratulate him.  The
dinner was served, and while it was being discussed his fair
companion of the drive graphically described the experience of
twenty strange minutes in a shackle-down mountain coach.  He was
surprised to find that she omitted no part, not even the hand
clasp or the manner in which she clung to him.  His ears burned
as he listened to this frank confession, for he expected to hear
words of disapproval from the uncle and aunt.  His astonishment
was increased by their utter disregard of these rather peculiar
details.  It was then that he realized how trusting she had been,
how serenely unconscious of his tender and sudden passion.  And
had she told her relatives that she had kissed him, he firmly
believed they would have smiled approvingly.  Somehow the real
flavor of romance was stricken from the ride by her candid
admissions.  What he had considered a romantic treasure was being
calmly robbed of its glitter, leaving for his memory the blurr of
an adventure in which he had played the part of a gallant
gentleman and she a grateful lady.  He was beginning to feel
ashamed of the conceit that had misled him.  Down in his heart he
was saying: "I might have known it.  I did know it.  She is not
like other women."  The perfect confidence that dwelt in the rapt
faces of the others forced into his wondering mind the impression
that this girl could do no wrong.

"And, Aunt Yvonne," she said, in conclusion, "the luck which you
say is mine as birthright asserted itself.  I escaped unhurt,
while Mr. Lorry alone possesses the pain and unpleasantness of
our ride."

"I possess neither," he objected.  "The pain that you refer to is
a pleasure."

"The pain that a man endures for a woman should always be a
pleasure," said Uncle Caspar smilingly.

"But it could not be a pleasure to him unless the woman
considered it a pain," reasoned Miss Guggenslocker.  "He could
not feel happy if she did not respect the pain."

"And encourage it," supplemented Lorry, drily.  "If you do not
remind me occasionally that I am hurt, Miss Guggenslocker, I am
liable to forget it."  To himself he added: "I'll never learn how
to say it in one breath."

"If I were not so soon to part from you I should be your
physician, and, like all physicians, prolong your ailment
interminably," she said, prettily.

"To my deepest satisfaction," he said, warmly, not lightly.
There was nothing further from his mind than servile flattery, as
his rejoinder might imply.  "Alas!" he went on, "we no sooner
meet than we part.  May I ask when you are to sail?"

"On Thursday," replied Mr. Guggenslocker.

"On the Kaiser Wilhelm der Grosse," added his niece, a faraway
look coming into her eyes.

"We are to stop off one day, to-morrow, in Washington," said Aunt
Yvonne, and the jump that Lorry's heart gave was so mighty that
he was afraid they could see it in his face.

"My uncle has some business to transact in your city, Mr. Lorry.
We are to spend tomorrow there and Wednesday in New York.  Then
we sail.  Ach, how I long for Thursday!"  His heart sank like
lead to the depths from which it had sprung.  It required no
effort on his part to see that he was alone in his infatuation.
Thursday was more to her than his existence; she could forget him
and think of Thursday, and when she thought of Thursday, the
future, he was but a thing of the past, not even of the present.

"Have you always lived in Washington, Mr. Lorry?" asked Mrs.
Guggenslocker.

"All my life," he replied wishing at that moment that he was
homeless and free to choose for himself.

"You Americans live in one city and then in another," she said.
"Now, in our country generation after generation lives and dies
in one town.  We are not migratory."

"Mr. Lorry has offended us by not knowing where Graustark is
located on the map," cried the young lady, and he could see the
flash of resentment in her eyes.

"Why, my dear sir, Graustark is in--"began Uncle Caspar, but she
checked him instantly.

"Uncle Caspar, you are not to tell him.  I have recommended that
he study geography and discover us for himself.  He should be
ashamed of his ignorance."

He was not ashamed, but he mentally vowed that before he was a
day older he would find Graustark on the map and would stock his
negligent brain with all that history and the encyclopedia had to
say of the unknown land.  Her uncle laughed, and, to Lorry's
disappointment, obeyed the young lady's command.

"Shall I study the map of Europe, Asia or Africa?" asked he, and
they laughed.

"Study the map of the world," said Miss Guggenslocker, proudly.

"Edelweiss is the capital?"

"Yes, our home city,--the queen of the crags," cried she.  "You
should see Edelweiss, Mr. Lorry.  It is of the mountain, the
plain and the sky.  There are homes in the valley, homes on the
mountain side and homes in the clouds."

"And yours?  From what you say it must be above the clouds--in
heaven."

"We are farthest from the clouds, for we live in the green
valley, shaded by the white topped mountains.  We may, in
Edelweiss, have what climate we will.  Doctors do not send us on
long journeys for our health.  They tell us to move up or down
the mountain.  We have balmy spring, glorious summer, refreshing
autumn and chilly winter, just as we like."

"Ideal!  I think you must be pretty well toward the south.  You
could not have July and January if you were far north."

"True; yet we have January in July.  Study your map.  We are
discernible to the naked eye," she said, half ironically.

"I care not if there are but three inhabitants Graustark, all
told, it is certainly worthy of a position on any map," said
Lorry, gallantly; and his listeners applauded with patriotic
appreciation.  "By the way, Mr. Gug--Guggenslocker, you say the
conductor asked you for my name and you did not know it.  May I
ask how you learned it later on?"  His curiosity got the better
of him, and his courage was increased by the champagne the old
gentleman had ordered.

"I did not know your name until my niece told it to me after your
arrival in the carriage," said Uncle Caspar.

"I don't remember giving it to Miss Guggenslocker at any time,"
said Lorry.

"You were not my informant," she said, demurely.

"Surely you did not guess it."

"Oh, no, indeed.  I am no mind reader."

"My own name was the last thing you could have read in my mind,
in that event, for I have not thought of it in three days."

She was sitting with her elbows on the table, her chin in her
hands, a dreamy look in her blue eyes.

"You say you obtained that coin from the porter on the Denver
train?"

"Within two hours after I got aboard."

"Well, that coin purchased your name for me," she said, calmly,
candidly.  He gasped.

"You--you don't mean that you--" he stammered.

"You see, Mr. Lorry, I wanted to know the name of a man who came
nearest my ideal of what an American should be.  As soon as I saw
you I knew that you were the American as I had grown to know him
through the books,--big, strong, bold and comely.  That is why I
bought your name of the porter.  I shall always say that I know
the name of an ideal American,--Grenfall Lorry."

The ideal American was not unmoved.  He was in a fever of fear
and happiness,--fear because he thought she was jesting,
happiness because he hoped she was not.  He laughed awkwardly,
absolutely unable to express himself in words.  Her frank
statement staggered him almost beyond the power of recovery.

There was joy in the knowledge that she had been attracted to him
at first sight, but there was bitterness in the thought that he
had come to her notice as a sort of specimen, the name of which
she had sought as a botanist would look for the name of an
unknown flower.

"I--I am honored," he at last managed to say, his eyes gleaming
with embarrassment.  "I trust you have not found your first
judgment a faulty one."  He felt very foolish after this flat
remark.

"I have remembered your name," she said, graciously.  His heart
swelled.

"There are a great many better Americans than I," he said.  "You
forget our president and our statesmen."

"I thought they were mere politicians."

Grenfall Lorry, idealized, retired to his berth that night, his
head whirling with the emotions inspired by this strange,
beautiful woman.  How lovely, how charming, how naive, how
queenly, how indifferent, how warm, how cold--how everything that
puzzled him was she.  His last waking thought was:

"Guggenslocker!  An angel with a name like that!"




CHAPTER IV

THE INVITATION EXTENDED


They were called by the porter early the next morning.  The train
was pulling into Washington, five hours late.  Grenfall wondered,
as he dressed, whether fortune would permit him to see much of
her during her brief day in the capital.  He dreamed of a drive
over the avenues, a trip to the monument, a visit to the halls of
congress, an inspection of public buildings, a dinner at his
mother's home, luncheon at the Ebbitt, and other attentions which
might give to him every moment of her day in Washington.  But
even as he dreamed, he was certain that his hopes could not be
gratified.

After the train had come to a standstill he could hear the rustle
of her garments in the next compartment.  Then he heard her sweep
into the passage, greet her uncle and aunt, utter a few commands
to the maid, and, while he was adjusting his collar and necktie,
pass from the car.  No man ever made quicker time in dressing
than did Lorry.  She could hardly have believed him ideal had she
seen his scowling face or heard the words that hissed through his
impatient teeth.

"She'll get away, and that'll be the end of it," he growled,
seizing his traps and rushing from the train two minutes after
her departure.  The porter attempted to relieve him of his bags
on the platform, but he brushed him aside and was off toward the
station.

"Nice time for you, to call a man, you idiot," was his parting
shot for the porter, forgetting of course, that the foreigners
had been called at the same time.  With eyes intent on the crowd
ahead, he plunged along, seeing nobody in his disappointed
flight.  "I'll never forgive myself if I miss her," he was
wailing to himself.  She was not to be seen in the waiting.
rooms, so he rushed to the sidewalk.

"Baggage transferred?"

"Cab, sir?"

"Go to the devil--yes, here!  Take these traps and these checks
and rush my stuff to No.---, W--- Avenue.  Trunks just in on
B.& O.," he cried, tossing his burdens to a transfer man and
giving him the checks so quickly that the fellow's sleepy eyes
opened wider than they had been for a month.  Relieved of his
impedimenta, he returned to the station.

"Good morning, Mr. Lorry.  Are you in too much of a hurry to see
your friends?" cried a clear, musical voice, and he stopped as if
shot.  The anxious frown flew from his brow and was succeeded
instantaneously by a glad smile.  He wheeled and beheld her, with
Aunt Yvonne, standing near the main entrance to the station.
"Why, good morning," he exclaimed, extending his hand gladly.  To
his amazement she drew herself up haughtily and ignored the
proffered hand.  Only for a brief second did this strange and
uncalled--for hauteur obtain.  A bright smile swept over her
face, and her repentant fingers sought his timidly, even
awkwardly.  Something told him that she was not accustomed to
handshaking; that same something impelled him to bend low and
touch the gloved fingers with his lips.  He straightened, with
face flushed, half fearful lest his act had been observed by
curious loungers, and he had taken a liberty in a public place
which could not be condoned.  But she smiled serenely,
approvingly.  There was not the faintest sign of embarrassment or
confusion in the lovely face.  Any other girl in the world, he
thought, would have jerked her hand away and giggled furiously.
Aunt Yvonne inclined her head slightly, but did not proffer her
hand.  He wisely refrained from extending his own.  "I thought
you had left the station," he said.

"We are waiting for Uncle Caspar, who is giving Hedrick
instructions.  Hedrick, you know, is to go on to New York with
our boxes.  He will have them aboard ship when we arrive there.
All that we have with us is hand luggage.  We leave Washington
to-night."

"I had hoped you might stay over for a few days."

"It is urgent business that compels us to leave so hastily, Mr.
Lorry.  Of all the cities in the world, I have most desired to
see the capital of your country.  Perhaps I may return some day.
But do not let us detain you, if you are in a hurry."

He started, looked guilty, stammered something about baggage,
said he would return in a moment, and rushed aimlessly away, his
ears fiery.

"I'm all kinds of a fool," he muttered, as he raced around the
baggage-room and then back to where he had left the two ladies.
Mr. Guggenslocker had joined them and they were preparing to
depart.  Miss Guggenslocker's face expressed pleasure at seeing
him.

"We thought you would never return, so long were you gone," she
cried, gaily.  He had been gone just two minutes by the watch!
The old gentleman greeted him warmly, and Lorry asked them to
what hotel they were going.  On being informed that they expected
to spend the day at the Ebbitt, he volunteered to accompany them,
saying that he intended to breakfast there.  Quicker than a flash
a glance, unfathomable as it was brief, passed between the three,
not quickly enough, however, to escape his keen, watchful eyes,
on the alert since the beginning of his acquaintance with them,
in conjunction with his ears, to catch something that might
satisfy, in a measure, his burning curiosity.  What was the
meaning of that glance?  It half angered him, for in it he
thought he could distinguish annoyance, apprehension, dismay or
something equally disquieting.  Before he could stiffen his long
frame and give vent to the dignified reconsideration that flew to
his mind, the young lady dispelled all pain and displeasure,
sending him into raptures, by saying:

"How good of you!  We shall be so delighted to have you breakfast
with us, Mr. Lorry, if it is convenient for you.  You can talk to
us of your wonderful city.  Now, say that you will be good to us;
stay your hunger and neglect your personal affairs long enough to
give us these early morning hours.  I am sure we cannot trouble
you much longer."

He expostulated gallantly and delightedly, and then hurried forth
to call a cab.  At eight o'clock he breakfasted with them, his
infatuation growing deeper and stronger as he sat for the hour
beneath the spell of those eyes, the glorious face, the sweet,
imperial air that was a part of her, strange and unaffected.  As
they were leaving the dining-room he asked her if she would not
drive with him.

His ardent gallantry met with a surprising rebuke.  The
conversation up to that moment had been bright and cheery, her
face had been the constant reflector of his own good spirits, and
he had every reason in the world to feel that his suggestion
would be received with pleasure.  It was a shock to him,
therefore, to see the friendly smile fade from her eyes and a
disdainful gleam succeed it.  Her voice, a moment ago sweet and
affable, changed its tone instantly to one so proud and arrogant
that he could scarcely believe his ears.

"I shall be engaged during the entire day, Mr. Lorry," she said,
slowly, looking him fairly in the eyes with cruel positiveness.
Those eyes of his were wide with surprise and the glowing gleam
of injured pride.  His lips closed tightly; little red spots flew
to his cheeks and then disappeared, leaving his face white and
cold; his heart throbbed painfully with the mingled emotions of
shame and anger.  For a moment he dared not speak.

"I have reason to feel thankful that you are to be engaged," he
said at last, calmly, without taking his eyes from hers.  "I am
forced to believe, much to my regret, that I have offended when I
intended to please.  You will pardon my temerity."

There was no mistaking the resentment in his voice or the glitter
in his eyes.  Impulsively her little hand was stretched forth,
falling upon his arm, while into her eyes came again the soft
glow and to her lips the most pathetic, appealing smile, the
forerunner of a pretty plea for forgiveness.  The change startled
and puzzled him more than ever.  In one moment she was
unreasonably rude and imperious, in the next gracious and
imploring.

"Forgive me," she cried, the blue eyes battling bravely against
the steel in the grey ones above.  "I was so uncivil!  Perhaps I
cannot make you understand why I spoke as I did, but, let me say,
I richly deserved the rebuke.  Pray forgive me and forget that I
have been disagreeable.  Do not ask me to tell you why I was so
rude to you just now, but overlook my unkind treatment of your
invitation.  Please, Mr. Lorry, I beg of you--I beg for the first
time in my life.  You have been so good to me; be good to me
still."

His wrath melted away like snow before the sunshine.  How could
he resist such an appeal?  "I beg for the first time in my life,"
whirled in his brain.  What did she mean by that?

"I absolve the penitent," he said, gravely.

"I thank you.  You are still my ideal American--courteous, bold
and gentle.  I do not wonder that Americans can be masterful men.
And now I thank you for your invitation, and ask you to let me
withdraw my implied refusal.  If you will take me for the drive,
I shall be delighted and more than grateful."

"You make me happy again," he said, softly, as they drew near the
elder members of the party, who had paused to wait for them.  "I
shall ask your uncle and aunt to accompany us."

"Uncle Caspar will be busy all day, but I am sure my aunt will be
charmed.  Aunt Yvonne, Mr. Lorry has asked us to drive with him
over the city, and I have accepted for you.  When are we to
start, Mr. Lorry?"

Mr. and Mrs. Guggenslocker stared in a bewildered sort of manner
at their niece.  Then Aunt Yvonne turned questioning eyes toward
her husband, who promptly bowed low before the tall American and
said:

"Your kind offices shall never be forgotten, sir.  When are the
ladies to be ready?"

Lorry was weighing in his mind the advisability of asking them to
dine in the evening with his mother, but two objections presented
themselves readily.  First, he was afraid of this perverse maid;
second, he had not seen his mother.  In fact, he did not know
that she was in town.

"At two o'clock, I fancy.  That will give us the afternoon.  You
leave at nine to-night, do you not?"

"Yes.  And will you dine with us this evening?"  Her invitation
was so unexpected, in view of all that had happened, that he
looked askance.  "Ach, you must not treat my invitation as I did
yours!" she cried, merrily, although he could detect the blush
that returns with the recollection of a reprimand.  "You should
profit by what I have been taught."  The girl abruptly threw her
arm about her aunt and cried, as she drew away in the direction
of her room: "At two, then, and at dinner this evening.  I bid
you good morning, Mr. Lorry."

The young man, delighted with the turn of affairs, but dismayed
by what seemed a summary dismissal, bowed low.  He waited until
the strange trio entered the elevator and then sauntered
downstairs, his hands in his pockets, his heart as light as air.
Unconsciously he jingled the coins.  A broad smile came over his
face as he drew forth a certain piece.  Holding it between his
thumb and forefinger he said:

"You are what it cost her to learn my name, are you?  Well, my
good fellow, you may be very small, but you bought something that
looks better than Guggenslocker on a hotel register.  Your
mistress is an odd bit of humanity, a most whimsical bit, I must
say.  First, she's no and then she's yes.  You're lucky, my coin,
to have fallen into the custody of one who will not give you over
to the mercy of strangers for the sake of a whim.  You are now
retired on a pension, well deserved after valiant service in the
cause of a most capricious queen."

In an hour he was at home and relating to his mother the story of
his wanderings, neglecting, for reasons best known to himself,
the events which occurred after Denver had been left behind,
except for a casual allusion to "a party of foreigners."  At one
o'clock, faultlessly attired, he descended to the brougham,
telling Mrs. Lorry that he had invited some strangers to see the
city.  On the way downtown he remembered that he was in business,
the law business--and that it would be well to drop in and let
his uncle know he was in the city.  On second thought, however,
he concluded it was too near two o'clock to waste any time on
business, so the office did not know that he was in town until
the next day, and then to no great extent.

For several hours he reveled in her society, sitting beside her
in that roomy brougham, Aunt Yvonne opposite, explaining to her
the many places of interest as they passed.  They entered the
Capitol; they saw the White House, and, as they were driving back
to the hotel, passed the President of the United States.

Miss Guggenslocker, when informed that the President's carriage
was approaching, relaxed gracefully from the stately reserve that
had been puzzling him, and revealed an eager curiosity.  Her eyes
fastened themselves upon the President, Lorry finding
entertainment in the changes that came over her unconscious face.
Instead of noting the veneration he had expected, he was
astonished and somewhat provoked to see a slight curl of disgust
at the corners of her mouth, a pronounced disappointment in her
eyes.  Her face expressed ridicule, pure and simple, and, he was
shocked to observe, the exposure was unconscious, therefore
sincere.

"You do not like our ruler?" he said, as the carriage whirled by.
He was returning his hat to his head as he spoke.

"I cannot say.  I do not know him," she replied, a tinge of
sarcasm in her voice.  "You Americans have one consolation; when
you tire of a ruler you can put another in his place.  Is it not
wise to do so quite often?"

"I don't think wise is the word.  Expedient is better.  I am to
infer that you have no politics."

"One house has ruled our land for centuries.  Since I came to
your land I have not once seen a man wave his hat with mad
adulation and cry from his heart: 'Long live the President!'  For
centuries, in my country, every child has been born with the
words: 'Long live the Prince!' in his heart, and he learns to say
them next after the dear parental words are mastered.  'Long live
the Prince!'  'Long live the Princess!' are tributes of love and
honor that greet our rulers from birth to death.  We are not
fickle, and we have no politics."

"Do your rulers hear tin horns, brass bands, campaign yells,
firecrackers and stump speeches every four years?  Do they know
what it means to be the voluntary choice of a whole nation?  Do
they know what it is to rule because they have won the right
and not because they were born to it?  Has there ever been a
homage-surfeited ruler in your land who has known the joy that
comes with the knowledge that he has earned the right to be
cheered from one end of the country to the other?  Is there not a
difference between your hereditary 'Long live the Prince' and our
wild, enthusiastic, spontaneous 'Hurrah for Cleveland!' Miss
Guggenslocker?  All men are equal at the beginning in our land.
The man who wins the highest gift that can be bestowed by seventy
millions of people is the man who had brains and not title as a
birthright."  He was a bit exasperated.

"There!  I have displeased you again.  You must pardon my
antiquated ideas.  We, as true and loyal subjects of a good
sovereign, cannot forget that our rulers are born, not made.
Perhaps we are afflicted at times with brainless monarchs and are
to be pitied.  You are generous in your selection of potentates,
be generous, then, with me, a benighted royalist, who craves
leniency of one who may some day be President of the United
States."

"Granted, without discussion.  As possible, though not probable,
President of the United States, I am magnanimous to an
unfortunate who can never hope to be princess, no matter how well
she might grace the gilded throne."

She greeted this glowing remark with a smile so intoxicating that
he felt himself the most favored of men.  He saw that smile in
his mind's eye for months afterward, that maddening sparkle of
joy, which flashed from her eyes to the very bottom of his heart,
there to snuggle forever with Memory's most priceless treasures.
Their dinner was but one more phase of this fascinating dream.
More than once he feared that he was about to awake to find bleak
unhappiness where exquisite joy had reigned so gloriously.  As it
drew to an end a sense of depression came over him.  An hour at
most was all that he could have with her.  Nine o'clock was
drawing nigh with its regrets, its longings, its desolation.  He
determined to retain the pleasures of the present until, amid the
clanging of bells and the roll of car wheels, the dismal future
began.  His intention to accompany them to the station was
expressed as they were leaving the table.  She had begun to say
good-by to him when he interrupted, self-consciousness forcing
the words hurriedly and disjointedly from his lips:

"You will let me go to the station with you.  I shall--er--deem
it a pleasure."

She raised her eyebrows slightly, but thanked him and said she
would consider it an honor.  His face grew hot and his heart cold
with the fancy that there was in her eyes a gleam which said: "I
pity you, poor fellow."

Notwithstanding his strange misgiving and the fact that his pride
had sustained quite a perceptible shock, he drove with them to
the station.  They went to the sleeping car a few minutes before
the time set for the train's departure, and stood at the bottom
of the steps, uttering the good-bys, the God-speeds and the
sincere hope that they might meet again.  Then came the sharp
activity of the trainmen, the hurry of belated passengers.  He
glanced soberly at his watch.

"It is nine o'clock.  Perhaps you would better get aboard," he
said, and proceeded to assist Aunt Yvonne up the steps.  She
turned and pressed his hand gently before passing into the car.

"Adieu, good friend.  You have made it so very pleasant for us,"
she said, earnestly.

The tall, soldierly old gentleman was waiting to assist his niece
into the coach.

"Go first, Uncle Caspar," the girl made Lorry happy by saying.
"I can easily come up unaided."

"Or I can assist her," Lorry hastened to add, giving her a
grateful look which she could not misunderstand.  The uncle shook
hands warmly with the young man and passed up the steps.  She was
following when Lorry cried,

"Will you not allow me?"

She laughingly turned to him from the steps and stretched forth
her hand.

"And now it is good-by forever.  I am so sorry that I have not
seen more of you," she said.  He took her hand and held it
tightly for a moment.

"I shall never forget the past few days," he said, a thrill in
his voice.  "You have put something into my life that can never
be taken away.  You will forget me before you are out of
Washington, but I--I shall always see you as you are now."

She drew her hand away gently, but did not take her eyes from his
upturned face.

"You are mistaken.  Why should I forget you--ever?  Are you not
the ideal American whose name I bought?  I shall always remember
you as I saw you--at Denver."

"Not as I have been since?" he cried.

"Have you changed since first I saw you?" she asked, quaintly.

"I have, indeed, for you saw me before I saw you.  I am glad I
have not changed for the worse in your eyes."

"As I first knew you with my eyes I will say that they are
trustworthy," she said tantalizingly.

"I do not mean that I have changed externally."

"In any other case my eyes would not serve," she cried, with mock
disappointment.  "Still," she added, sweepingly, "you are my
ideal American.  Good-by!  The man has called 'all aboard!'"

"Good-by!" he cried, swinging up on the narrow step beside her.
Again he clasped her hand as she drew back in surprise.  "You are
going out of my land, but not out of my mind.  If you wish your
eyes to see the change in me, you have only to look at them in a
mirror.  They are the change--they themselves!  Goodby!  I hope
that I may see you again."

She hesitated an instant, her eyes wavering beneath his.  The
train was moving slowly now.

"I pray that we may meet," she said, softly, at last,--so softly
that he barely heard the words.  Had she uttered no sound he
could have been sure of her response, for it was in her telltale
eyes.  His blood leaped madly.  "You will be hurt if you wait
till the train is running at full speed," she cried, suddenly
returning to the abandoned merry mood.  She pushed him gently in
her excitement.  "Don't you see how rapidly we are moving?
Please go!"  There was a terror in her eyes that pleased him.

"Good-by, then," he cried.

"Adieu, my American," she cried quickly.

As he swung out, ready to drop to the ground, she said, her eyes
sparkling with something that suggested mischief, her face more
bewitching than ever under the flicker of the great arc lights:

"You must come to Edelweiss to see me.  I shall expect you!"  He
thought there was a challenge in the tones.  Or was it mockery?

"I will, by heaven, I will!" he exclaimed.

A startled expression flashed across her face, and her lips
parted as if in protestation.  As she leaned forward, holding
stoutly to the hand-rail, there was no smile on her countenance.

A white hand fluttered before his eyes, and she was gone.  He
stood, hat in hand, watching the two red lights at the end of the
train until they were lost in the night.



V.

SENTIMENTAL EXCHANGE


If Lorry slept that night he was not aware of it.  The next
morning, after he had breakfasted with his mother, he tried in
vain to recall a minute of the time between midnight and eight
a.m. in which he did not think of the young woman who had flown
away with his tranquillity.  All night long he tossed and
thought.  He counted ten thousand black sheep jumping over a
pasture fence, but, after the task was done and the sheep had
scattered, he was as far from sleep as ever.  Her face was
everywhere.  Her voice filled his ear with music never-ceasing,
but it was not the lulling music that invites drowsiness.  He
heard the clock strike the hours from one to eight, when he
arose, thoroughly disgusted with himself.  Everything seemed to
taste bitter or to look blue.  That breakfast was a great strain
on his natural politeness.  He worshipped his mother, but in
several instances that morning he caught himself just in time to
prevent the utterance of some sharp rejoinder to her pleasant,
motherly queries.  Twice she was compelled to repeat questions,
his mind being so far away that he heard nothing save words that
another woman had uttered, say twenty-four hours before.  His
eyes were red, and there was a heavy droop to the lids; his tones
were drawling and his voice strangely without warmth; his face
was white and tired.

"You are not well, Grenfall," his mother said, peering anxiously
into his eyes.  "The trip has done you up.  Now, you must take a
good, long rest and recover from your vacation."

He smiled grimly.

"A man never needs a rest so much as he does at the end of his
vacation, eh, mother?  Well, work will be restful.  I shall go to
the office this morning and do three days' work before night.
That will prove to you that I am perfectly well."

He made a pretence of reading the morning paper.  There was
nothing to interest him on' those cold, commonplace pages, not
one thing--but wait!  A thought struck him suddenly, and for ten
minutes he searched the columns assiduously, even nervously.
Then he threw down the paper with a sigh of relief.

There was nothing to indicate that her train had been wrecked.
She had undoubtedly reached New York in safety.  He looked at his
watch.  She was probably enjoying her breakfast at that very
moment.  Perhaps she was thinking of him and--perhaps not.  The
memory of that last tender hand clasp and the soft glow in her
eyes stood like a wall between the fear that she had forgotten
and the certainty that she remembered.  Had not this memory kept
him awake?  That and the final, mysterious emotion which had
shown itself in her face as he had last looked upon it?  A
thousand times had he pondered over that startled look and the
signs of agitation.  Was it fear?  Was it dismay?  Was it
renunciation?  Whatever it was, it sorely disturbed him; it had
partly undone the charm of the moment before--the charm that
could not and would not be gainsaid.

True to his intention, he went to the office early, virtuously
inclined to work.  His uncle greeted him warmly and a long
conference over business affairs followed.  To Lorry's annoyance
and discomfiture he found himself frequently inattentive.
Several important cases were pending, and in a day or two they
were to go into court with a damage suit of more than ordinary
consequence. Lorry, senior, could not repress his gratification
over the return of his clever, active nephew at such an opportune
time.  He had felt himself unable to handle the case alone; the
endurance of a young and vigorous mind was required for the
coming battle in chancery.

They lunched together, the elder eager and confidential, the
other respectful and--absent-minded.  In the afternoon the junior
went over the case, and renewed search for authorities and
opinions, fully determined to be constant in spite of his
inclination to be fickle.  Late in the day he petulantly threw
aside the books, curtly informed his astonished uncle that he was
not feeling well, and left the office.  Until dinner time he
played billiards atrociously at his club; at dinner his mother
sharply reproved him for flagrant inattentions; after dinner he
smoked and wondered despondently.  To-morrow she was to sail!  If
he could but see her once more!

At 7:30 his mother found him in the library, searching diligently
through the volume of the encyclopedia that contained the G's.
When she asked what he was looking for he laughed idiotically,
and, in confusion, informed her that he was trying to find the
name of the most important city in Indiana.  She was glancing at
the books in the case when she was startled by hearing him utter
an exclamation and then lean to his feet.

"Half-past seven!  I can make it!"

"What is the matter, Gren dear?"

"Oh!" he ejaculated, bringing himself up with a start.  "I
forgot--er--yes, mother, I'll just have time to catch the train,
you know.  Will you kindly have Mary clean up this muss of books
and so forth?  I'm off, you see, to New York--for a day only,
mother,--back tomorrow!  Important business--just remembered it,
you know,--ahem!  Good-by, mother!  Good-by!" he had kissed her
and was in the hall before she fairly understood what he was
talking about.  Then she ran after him, gaining the hallway in
time to see him pass through the street door, his hat on the side
of his head, his overcoat fluttering furiously as he shoved his
arms into the sleeves.  The door slammed, and he was off to New
York.

The train was ready to pull out when he reached the station, and
it was only by a hard run that he caught the last platform,
panting but happy.  just twenty-four hours before she had left
Washington, and it was right here that she had smiled and said
she would expect him to come to Edelweiss.  He had had no time to
secure a berth in the sleeper, but was fortunately able to get
one after taking the train.  Grenfall went to sleep feeling both
disappointed and disgusted.  Disappointed because of his
submission to sentiment; disgusted because of the man who
occupied the next section.  A man who is in love and in doubt has
no patience with the prosaic wretch who can sleep so audibly.

After a hasty breakfast in New York he telephoned to the
steamship company's pier and asked the time of sailing for the
Kaiser Wilhelm.  On being informed that the ship was to cast off
at her usual hour, he straightway called a cab and was soon
bowling along toward the busy waterway.  Directly he sat bolt
upright, rigid and startled to find himself more awakened to the
realization of his absurd action.  Again it entered his
infatuated head that he was performing the veriest schoolboy
trick in rushing to a steamship pier in the hope of catching a
final, and at best, unsatisfactory glimpse of a young woman who
had appealed to his sensitive admiration.  A love-sick boy could
be excused for such a display of imbecility, but a man--a man of
the world'.  Never!

"The idea of chasing down to the water's edge to see that girl is
enough to make you ashamed of yourself for life, Grenfall Lorry,"
he apostrophized.  "It's worse than any lovesick fool ever
dreamed of doing.  I am blushing, I'll be bound.  The idiocy, the
rank idiocy of the thing!  And suppose she should see me staring
at her out there on the pier?  What would she think of me?  I'll
not go another foot!  I won't be a fool!"

He was excited and self-conscious and thoroughly ashamed of the
trip into which his impetuous adoration had driven him.  Just as
he was tugging at the door in the effort to open it that he might
order the driver to take him back to the hotel, a sly tempter
whispered something in his ear; his fancy was caught, and he
listened:

"Why not go down to the pier and look over the passenger list,
just to see if she has been booked safely?  That would be
perfectly proper and sensible, and besides it will be a
satisfaction to know that she gets off all right.  Certainly!
There's nothing foolish in that . . . .  Especially as I am right
on the way there . . . .  And as I have come so far . . . there's
no sense in going back without seeing whether she has secured
passage . . . .  I can find out in a minute and then go home.
There won't be anything wrong in that.  And then I may have a
glimpse of her before the ship leaves the pier.  She must not see
me, of course.  Never!  She'd laugh at me!  How I'd hate to see
her laughing at me!"  Then, sinking back again with a smile of
justification on his face, he muttered: "We won't turn back;
we'll go right ahead.  We'll be a kind of a fool, but not so
foolish as to allow her to see us and recognize us as one."

Before long they arrived at the wharf, and he hurried to the
office near by.  The clerk permitted him to look over the list.
First he ran through the first-class passengers, and was
surprised to find that there was no such name as Guggenslocker in
the list.  Then he went over the second class, but still no
Guggenslocker.

"Hasn't Mr. Guggenslocker taken passage?" he demanded, unwilling
to believe his eyes.

"Not on the Kaiser Wilhelm, sir."

"Then, by George, they'll miss the boat!" Lorry exclaimed.
"Maybe they'll be here in a few minutes."

"They can't get anything but steerage now, sir.  Everything else
is gone."

"Are you sure they haven't taken passage?" asked the bewildered
Lorry, weakly,

"You can see for yourself," answered the young man, curtly.
Lorry was again in a perspiration, this time the result of a
vague, growing suspicion that had forced itself into his mind.
He wandered aimlessly away, his brain a chaos of speculation.
The suspicion to which he had given countenance grew, and as it
enlarged he suffered torment untold.  Gradually he came to the
conclusion that she had fooled him, had lied to him.  She did not
intend to sail on the Wilhelm, at all.  It was all very clear to
him now, that strangeness in her manner, those odd occasional
smiles What was she?  An adventuress!  That sweet-faced girl a
little ordinary coquette, a liar?  He turned cold with the
thought.  Nor was she alone in her duplicity.  Had not her uncle
and aunt been as ready to deceive him?  Were they trying to throw
him off their track for some subtle purpose?  Had they done
something for which they were compelled to fly the country as
quickly as possible?  No!  Not that!  They certainly were not
fleeing from justice.  But why were they not on board the Kaiser
Wilhelm?

Suddenly he started as if he had been struck, and an involuntary
exclamation of pain and horror escaped his lips.  Perhaps
something unforeseen had happened--an accident--illness--even
death!

The clanging of bells broke upon his ears and he knew that the
great ship was about to depart.  Mechanically, disconsolately he
walked out and paced the broad, crowded wharf.  All was
excitement.  There was the rush of people, the shouts, the
cheers, the puffing of tugs, the churning of water, and the
Kaiser Wilhelm was off on its long voyage.  Half-heartedly,
miserably and in a dazed condition he found a place in the front
row along the rail.  There were tears in his eyes, tears of
anger, shame and mortification.  She had played with him!

Moodily he watched the crowd of voyagers hanging over the rails
of the moving leviathan of the deep.  A faint smile of irony came
to his lips.  This was the boat on which his heart was to have
been freighted from native shores.  The craft was sailing, but it
was not carrying the cargo that he had, in very good faith,
consigned to Graustark.  His heart was certainly not on board the
Kaiser Wilhelm der Grosse.

Gloomily his disappointed eyes swept along the rail of the big
steamer, half interested in spite of themselves.  Twice they
passed a certain point on the forward deck, unconscious of a
force that was attracting them in that direction.  The third time
he allowed them to settle for an instant on the group of faces
and figures and then stray off to other parts of the ship.  Some
strange power drew them again to the forward deck, and this time
he was startled into an intent stare.  Could he believe those
eyes?  Surely that was her figure at the rail--there between the
two young women who were waving their handkerchiefs so
frantically.  His heart began to jump up and down, wildly,
doubtingly, impatiently.  Why could not that face be turned
toward the wharf as the others were?  There was the blue
coat but not the blue cap.  A jaunty sailor hat sat where the
never-to-be-forgotten cap had perched.  The change was slight,
but it was sufficient to throw him into the most feverish state of
uncertainty.  An insane desire to shout a command to this strange
young woman came over him.

The ship was slowly opening a gap between herself and the wharf,
and he knew that in a few moments recognition would be
impossible.  Just as he was losing hope and was ready to groan
with despair, the face beneath the sailor hat was turned squarely
in his direction.  A glaze obscured his eyes, a numbness attacked
his brain.  It was Miss Guggenslocker!

Why was her name omitted from the passenger list?  That question
was the first to whirl through his addled brain.  He forgot the
questionings, forgot everything a moment later, for, to his
amazement and delight and discomfiture, he saw that she was
peering intently at him.  A pair of big glasses was leveled at
him for a second and then lowered.  He plainly saw the smile on
her face, and the fluttering cambric in her hand.  She had seen
him, after all,--had caught him in a silly exhibition of
weakness.  Her last impression of him, then, was to be one of
which he could not feel proud.  While his heart burned with
shame, it could not have been suspected from the appearance of
his face.  His eyes were dancing, his mouth was wide open with
joy, his lips were quivering with a suppressed shout, his cheeks
were flushed and his whole aspect bespoke ecstacy.  He waved his
hat and then his handkerchief, obtaining from her vigorous and
unrestrained signs of approbation.  Her face was wreathed in
smiles as she leaned far over the rail, the picture of animated
pleasure.

Making sure that her uncle and aunt were not visible, he boldly
placed his fingers to his lips and wafted a kiss out over the
water!

"Now she'll crush me," he cried to himself, regretting the rash
act and praying that she had not observed it.

Her handkerchief ceased fluttering in an instant, and, with
sinking heart, he realized that she had observed.  There was a
moment of indecision on the part of the fair one going out to
sea, and then the little finger tips of both hands went to her
lips and his kiss came back to him!

The people near him were surprised to hear a wild yell from his
lips and then to see him wave his hat so madly that there was
some danger of its being knocked to pieces against the railing or
upon the persons of those who stood too close to escape the
whirling consequences.  So unexpected had been her reception of
what he considered a calamitous indiscretion that he was to be
pardoned for the ebullition of relief and joy that followed.  Had
she drawn a revolver and fired angrily at him he could not have
been more astounded.  But, to actually throw a kiss to him--to
meet his imprudence in the same spirit that had inspired it!  Too
much to believe!  In the midst of his elation, however, there
came a reminder that she did not expect to see him again, that
she was playing with him, that it was a merry jest and not a
heartache that filled her bosom at the parting.

While he was still waving his handkerchief, debating savagely and
joyously the wisdom of the act, she became a part of the distant
color scheme; the blue figure faded and blended into the general
tone and could no longer be distinguished.  She was gone, but she
had tossed him a kiss from lips that he should always see.  As he
turned away from the water he found himself wondering if there
had been tears in her eyes, but the probability was so remote
that he laughed foolishly and aloud A couple of girls heard the
laugh and giggled in sympathy, but he turned a scowling face upon
them and disappeared in the throng.

Uppermost in his bewildered mind was the question: Why is she not
in the passenger list?  Acting on a sudden impulse, he again
sought out the clerk in charge and made a most thorough
inspection.  There was no Guggenslocker among the names.  As a
last resort h  asked:

"They could not have sailed under an assumed name, could they?"

"I can't say as to that.  Where are they going?"

"Graustark."

But the young man shook his head slowly, Lorry's shaking in
unconscious accord.

"Are you sure that you saw the young lady on board?"

"Well, rather!" exclaimed Lorry, emphatically.

"I was going to say there are a lot of Italian and German singers
on the ship, and you might have been mistaken.  But since you are
so positive, it seems very strange that your friends are not on
the list."

So Lorry went away discouraged and with a vague fear that she
might have been a prima donna whose real name was Guggenslocker
but whose stage name was something more euphonious.  He instantly
put away the thought and the fear.  She was certainly not an
opera singer--impossible!  He drove back to his hotel, and made
preparations for his return to Washington.  Glancing casually
over the register he came to the name that had been haunting him
--Guggenslocker!  There were the names, "Caspar Guggenslocker and
four, Graustark." Without hesitation he began to question the
clerk.

"They sailed on the Kaiser Wilhelm to-day;" said that worthy.
"That's all I know about them.  They came yesterday and left to.
day."

Mr. Grenfall Lorry returned to Washington as in a dream--a fairy
dream.  The air of mystery that had grown from the first was now
an impenetrable wall, the top of which his curiosity could not
scale.  Even his fancy, his imagination, served him not.  There
was but one point on which he was satisfied: he was in love.  His
own condition was no mystery.

Several weeks later he went to New York to question the Captain
of the Wilhelm, hoping to clear away the clouds satisfactorily.
To his amazement, the captain said there had been no
Guggenslockers on board nor had there been persons answering the
description, so far as he could tell.

Through the long hot summer he worked, and worried, and wondered.
In the first, he did little that was satisfactory to himself or
to his uncle; in the second, he did so much that he was advised
by his physician to take a rest; in the last, he indulged himself
so extensively that it had become unbearable.  He must know all
about her?  But how?

The early months of autumn found him pale and tired and
indifferent alike to work and play.  Ha found no pleasure in the
society that
had known him as a lion.  Women bored him; men annoyed him; the
play suffocated him; the tiresome club was ruining his temper;
the whole world was going wrong.  The doctor told him he was
approaching nervous prostration; his mother's anxious eyes could
no longer be denied, so he realized grimly that there was but one
course left open to him.

He suggested it to the doctor, to his mother and to his uncle,
and they agreed with him.  It involved Europe.

Having fully decided again to cross the sea, his spirits revived.
He became more cheerful, took an interest in things that were
going on, and, by the time the Kaiser Wilhelm sailed in September,
was the picture of health and life.

He was off for Edelweiss--to the strange Miss Guggenslocker who
had thrown him a kiss from the deck that sailing-day.



VI

GRAUSTARK


Two weeks later Grenfall Lorry was landed and enjoying the
sensations, the delights of that wonderful world called by the
name of Paris.  The second day after his arrival he met a
Harvard man of his time on the street.  Harry Anguish had been
a pseudo art student for two years.  When at college he was a
hail-fellow-well-met, a leader in athletics and in matters upon which
faculties frown.  He and Lorry were warm friends, although
utterly unlike in temperament; to know either of these men was to
like him; between the two one found all that was admirable and
interesting in man.  The faults and virtues of each were along
such different lines that they balanced perfectly when lumped
upon the scale of personal estimation.  Their unexpected meeting
in Paris, was as exhilarating pleasure to both, and for the next
week or so they were inseparable.  Together they sipped absinthe
at the cafes and strolled into the theaters, the opera, the dance
halls and the homes of some of Anguish's friends, French and
American.

Lorry did not speak to his friend of Graustark until nearly two
weeks after his arrival in the city.  He had discussed with
himself the advisability of revealing his plans to Anguish,
fearing the latter's ridicule with all the cowardice of a man who
knows that scoffing is, in a large measure, justifiable.  Growing
impatient to begin the search for the unheard-of country, its
capital and at least one of its inhabitants, he was at last
compelled to inform Anguish, to a certain extent, of his plans
for the future.  He began by telling him of his intention to take
a run over toward Vienna, Buda-Pesth and some of the Eastern
cities, expecting to be gone a couple of months.  To his surprise
and consternation, Anguish enthusiastically volunteered to take
the trip with him, having had the same project in view for nearly
a year.

There was nothing left for Lorry but to make a clean breast of
it, which he did shamefacedly, expecting the laughter and
raillery of his light-hearted friend as payment for his
confidence.  Instead, however, Anguish, who possessed a lively
and romantic nature, was charmed by the story and proclaimed it
to be the most delightful adventure that had ever happened
outside of a story-book.

"Tell me all about her," he urged, his eyes sparkling with boyish
enthusiasm.  And Lorry proceeded to give him a personal
description of the mysterious beauty, introducing him, in the
same manner, to the distinguished uncle and aunt, adding all
those details which had confounded and upset him during his own
investigations.

"This is rich!" exclaimed Anguish.  "Beats any novel written, I
declare.  Begad, old man, I don't blame you for hunting down this
wonderful bit of femininity.  With a curiosity and an admiration
that had been sharpened so keenly as yours, I'd go to the end of
the world myself to have them satisfied."

"I may be able to satisfy but one--curiosity.  And maybe not
that.  But who knows of Graustark?"

"Don't give up before you've tried.  If these people live in such a
place, why, it is to be found, of course.  Any railroad guide-book
can locate this land of mystery.  There are so many infernal
little kingdoms and principalities over here that it would take a
lifetime to get 'em all straightened out in one's head.  To-morrow
morning we will go to one of the big railway-stations and
make inquiries.  We'll locate Graustark and then we'll go over
and pluck the flower that grows there.  All you need, my boy, is
a manager.  I'll do the arranging, and your little act will be
the plucking."

"Easier said than done."

"She threw a kiss to you, didn't she?"

"Certainly, but, confound it, that was because she never expected
to see me again."

"Same reason why you threw a kiss to her, I suppose?"

"I know why; I wasn't accountable."

"Well, if she did it any more wittingly than you did, she is
accountable, and I'd hunt her up and demand an explanation."

Lorry laughed at his apparent fervor, but was glad that he had
confided in his energetic countryman.  Two heads were better than
one, and he was forced to admit to himself that he rather liked
the idea of company in the undertaking.  Not that he expected to
encounter any particular difficulty, but that he saw a strange
loneliness ahead.  Therefore he welcomed his friend's avowed
intention to accompany him to Edelweiss as a relief instead of an
annoyance.  Until late in the night they discussed the coming
trip, Anguish finally startling him with a question, just as he
was stretching himself preparatory to the walk to his hotel.

"What are you going to do with her after you find her, Gren, old
man?"

Grenfall's brow puckered and he brought himself up with a jerk,
puzzled uncertainty expressing itself in his posture as well as
in his face.

"I'll think about that after I have found her," he replied.

"Think you'll marry her?" persisted the other.

"How do I knew?" exclaimed the woman hunter, savagely.

"Oh, of course you don't know--how could you?" apologized
Anguish.  "Maybe she won't have you--maybe she is married--all
sorts of contingencies, you know.  But, if you'll pardon my
inquisitiveness, I'd like to ask why you are making this wild
goose chase half around the world?  just to have another look at
her?"

"You asked me if I thought--"  Here he stopped.

"I take it for granted, then, that you'd like to.  Well, I'm glad
that I've got something definite on which to base operations.
The one object of our endeavors, from now on, is to exchange
Guggenslocker for Lorry--certainly no robbery.  A charity, I
should say.  Good-night!  See you in the morning."

The next morning the two friends took a cab to several railway
stations and inquired about Graustark and Edelweiss.

"She was stringing you, old man," said Anguish, after they had
turned away from the third station.  He spoke commiseratingly, as
he really felt sorry.

"No!" exclaimed Lorry.  "She told me the truth.  There is a
Graustark and she lives there.  I'll stake my life on those eyes
of hers."

"Are you sure she said it was in Europe?" asked Harry, looking up
and down the street as if he would not have been surprised to see
her in Paris.  In his heart he believed that she and her precious
relatives had deceived old Gren.  Perhaps their home was in
Paris, and nowhere else.  But for Lorry's positiveness he would
have laughed heartily at the other's simple credulity, or branded
him a dolt, the victim of some merry actress's whim.  Still, he
was forced to admit, he was not in a position to see matters as
they appeared, and was charitable enough to bide his time and to
humor the faith that was leading them from place to place in the
effort to find a land that they knew nothing about.  Lorry seemed
so sure, so positive, that he was loath to see his dream
dispelled, his ideal shattered.  There was certainly no
Graustark; neither had the Guggenslockers sailed on the Wilhelm,
all apparent evidence to the contrary notwithstanding.  Lorry had
been in a delirium and had imagined he saw her on the ship.  If
there, why was not her name in the list?  But that problem
tortured the sanguine searcher himself.

At last, in despair, after a fruitless search of two days, Lorry
was willing to submit.  With the perverseness common to
half-defeated fighters, Anguish at once protested, forgetting that
he had sought to dissuade his friend the day before.

"We'll go to the library of Paris and take a look through the
books and maps," he said.  "Or, better still, let us go to the
post office.  There!  Why have we not thought of that?  What
there is of Graustark they'll know in the postal service."

Together they visited the chief post office, where, after being
directed to various deputies and clerks, they at length found the
department in which the information was obtainable.  Inside of
five minutes they were in possession of facts that vindicated
Miss Guggenslocker, lifted Lorry to the seventh heaven, and put
Mr. Anguish into an agony of impatience.  Graustark was a small
principality away off to the east, and Edelweiss was a city of
some seventy-five thousand inhabitants, according to the postal
guide-book.

The Americans could learn no more there, so they went to
Baedecker's office.  Here they found a great map, and, after a
diligent and almost microscopic search, succeeded in discovering
the principality of Graustark.  Then they looked at each other in
dismay.

"It's a devil of a distance to that little red blot on the map,"
mused Lorry, pulling his nose reflectively.  "What an outlandish
place for a girl like her to live in," he continued.  "And that
sweet-faced old lady and noble Uncle Caspar!  Ye gods!  one would
think barbarians existed there and not such people as the
Guggenslockers, refined, cultivated smart, rich.  I'm more
interested than ever in the place."

"So am I!  I'm willing and ready to make the trip, old man, if
you are still of a mind.  It's a lark, and, besides, she may not
be the only pretty and gracious girl there.  We've had bard work
to find it on the map, let's not stop till we see Edelweiss on
the earth itself."

They made hasty preparations for the journey.  Anguish, romantic
and full of adventure, advised the purchase of a pair of pistols
and a knife apiece, maintaining that, as they were going into an
unknown and mountainous region, they should be prepared for
brigands and other elements of danger.  Lorry pooh-poohed the
suggestion of brigands, but indulged his mood by buying some
ugly-looking revolvers and inviting the prospect of something
really thrilling in the way of an adventure.  With their traps
they were soon whirling through France, bound for a certain great
city, on the road to Edelweiss, one filled with excitement,
eagerness and boyish zeal, the other harrassed by the sombre fear
that a grave disappointment was in store for him.  Through the
glamour and the picturesqueness of the adventure there always
crept the unconquerable feeling that he was on a fool's errand,
that he was committing a deed so weak and brainless that it was
sure to make him a veritable laughing-stock when it became known.
After all, who was Miss Guggenslocker--brewer, baker, gardener or
sausage-maker.

Traveling, of course, was pleasant at this time of the year, and
the two Americans saw much that interested them along the way.
Their French, especially Anguish's, was of great value to them,
for they found occasion to use it at all times and in all places.
Both spoke German fairly well, and took every opportunity to
brush up in that language, Lorry remembering that the
Guggenslockers used many expressions that showed a preference for
the Teutonic.  The blithe Anguish, confident and in high feather,
was heart and soul in the odd expedition of love, and talked
incessantly of their reception by the far-away hostess, their
impressions and the final result.  His camera and sketching
materials were packed away with his traps.  It was his avowed
intention to immortalize the trip by means of plate, palate and
brush.

At the end of two days they reached a certain large city,--the
first change, and then seven hundred miles to another.  The
distance from this point to the capital of Graustark was two
hundred miles or more, chiefly through mountainous lands.
Somewhat elated by the cheerful information there received, they
resumed the journey to Edelweiss, the city of vale, slope and
park,--summer, fall and winter.  Changing cars at the end of the
second day out, they sat back in the dusty seats of their
carriage and sighed with relief.

"Unless we jump the track, this train will land us in the city we
are looking for," said Anguish, stretching out his legs
comfortably.  "I'll admit it has been a tiresome journey, and
I'll be glad when we can step into a decent hotel, have a rub,
and feel like white men once more.  I am beginning to feel like
these dirty Slavs and Huns we saw 'way back there."

"There's one thing certain," said Lorry, looking out of the
window.  "The people and the habitations are different and the
whole world seems changed since we left that station.  Look at
those fellows on horseback over there."

"What did I tell you about brigands and robbers!" exclaimed
Anguish.  "If those fellows are not bandits I'll lose faith in
every novel I ever read."

The train rolled slowly past three mounted men whose steeds stood
like statues upon a little knoll to the right of the track, men
and beasts engaged in silent contemplation of the cars.  The men,
picturesquely attired and looking fierce, carrying long rifles,
certainly bore an aspect that suggested the brigand.  When the
guard entered the carriage Anguish asked in German for some
information concerning the riders.

"Dey're frontier police-guards," responded the man in English,
smiling at their astonishment.  Both Americans arose and shook
hands with him.

"By George, it's good to hear a man talk white man's language,"
cried Anguish.

"How do you come to be holding a job on this road?  An
Englishman?" demanded Lorry.  He looked anything but English.

"I'm not an Englishman," said the guard, flushing slightly.  "My
name's Sitzky, and I'm an American, sir."

"An American!" exclaimed Lorry.  Sitzky grew loquacious.

"Sure!  I used to be a sailor on a United States man-o'war.  A
couple of years ago I got into trouble down at Constantinople and
had to get out of de service.  After dat I drifted up dis way and
went to railroadin'."  He hadn't exactly the manner of a man-of.
warsman.

"How long have you been on this road?" asked Grenfall.

"'Bout a year, I should t'ink.  Been on dis branch only two
months, dough."

"Are you pretty well acquainted in Edelweiss?''

"Oh, I run in dere every other day--in an' out ag'in.  It's a
fine place,--purtiest you ever saw in your life.  The town runs
right up the mountain to the tip-top where the monks are--clear
up in d' clouds.  Dey say it snows up dere almost all d' time."

Later on, from the loquacious guard, the two Americans learned
quite a good bit about the country and city to which they were
going.  His knowledge was somewhat limited along certain lines,
but quite clear as to others.

'Dis Graustark, 's fer as I know, is eeder a sort o' state or
somet'ing belongin' to de Umpire, governed by it's own rulers.
Edelweiss is de capital, d' big guns of d' land lives dere.  I've
walked out and saw d' castle where d' Princess and d' royalty
hangs out.  D' people speak a language of deir own, and I can't
get next to a t'ink dey say.  But once in a while you find some
guy dat talks French or German.  Dey've got a little standin'
army of two t'ree t'ousand men an' dey've got de hottest uniforms
you ever did see--red an' black an' gold.  I don't see why d'
United Rates can't get up somethin' foxy fer her soldiers to
wear.  Had a war over here not long ago, I understand--somethin'
like ten or fifteen years ago.  Dere's another little country up
north of Graustark, and dey got in a wrangle 'bout somethin', and
dey tell me in Edelweiss dat for 'bout a year dey fought like Sam
Patch."

"Which was victorious?" demanded Lorry, deeply interested.

"I'm not sure.  To hear d' Edelweiss people talk you'd t'ink dey
licked d' daylights out of d' other slobs, but somehow I got next
to d' fact dat dem other fellows captured de city an' went after
a slashin' big war indemnity.  I don't know much 'bout it, an'
maybe I'm clear off but I t'ink d' Graustark army was trashed.
Every t'ing is prosperous now, dough, an' you'd never know dere'd
been a war.  It's d'most peaceable town I ever saw."

"Did you ever hear of the Guggenslockers?" asked the
irrepressible Anguish, and Lorry felt like kicking him.

"In Edelweiss?  Never did.  Friends of yours?"

"Acquaintances," interposed Lorry, hastily, frowning at Anguish.

"You won't have any trouble findin' 'em if dere anybody at all,"
said Sitzky, easily.  "D' hotel people ought to be able to tell
you all 'bout 'em."

"By the way, what is the best hotel there?" asked Anguish.

"Dere's d' Burnowentz, one block north of d' depot." The
travelers looked at one another and smiled, Sitzky observing the
action.  "Oh," he said, pleasantly, "dere's a swell joint uptown
called d' Regengetz.  It's too steep fer me, but maybe you gents
can stand it.  It you'll hang around d' depot fer a little while
after we get in I'll steer you up dere."

"We'll make it worth your while, Sitzky," said Lorry.

"Never mind dat, now.  Americans ought to stick together, no
matter where dey are.  We'll have a drink an' 'at's all, just to
show we're fellow countrymen."

"We'll have several drinks, and we'll eat and drink tonight at
the 'swell joint' you talk about," said Anguish.

"We may drink dere, but I'll not eat dere.  Dey wouldn't let a
railroad guard inside de feedin' pen.  Why, nothin' but royal
guys eat dere when dey're down town shoppin' or exposin'
demselves to public gaze."

True to his word, when they reached Edelweiss late that afternoon
Sitzky, their friend of uncertain origin, hurriedly finished his
work and joined the travelers in the station.  Lorry and Anguish
were deeply interested in all they saw, the strange people, the
queer buildings, the odd costumes and the air of antiquity that
prevailed.  Once upon the narrow, clean street they saw that
Edelweiss was truly a city of the mountain-side.  They had
expected something wonderful, but were not prepared for what they
found.  The city actually ran up into the clouds.  There was
something so grand, so improbable, so unusual in the spectacle
confronting them that they stared like children, aghast and
stupefied.  Each had the startling impression that a great
human-dotted mountain was falling over upon his head; it was
impossible to subdue the sensation of dizziness that the toppling
town inspired.

"I know how you feel," observed Sitzky, laughing.  "I was just d'
same at first.  Tomorrow you walk a little ways up d' side of d'
mountain an' you'll see how much of d' city dere is on level
ground down here.  Dem buildings up dere ain't more'n
one-fiftieth part of d'town.  Dey're mostly summer homes.  It
gets hot as blazes down here in d' valley in d' middle of
d' summer and d' rich ones move up d' mountain."

"How in thunder do people get up to those houses?" demanded
Anguish.

"Mules," answered Sitzky, specifically.  "Say!  See dat little
old feller comin' on horseback--wid d' white uniform?  Well,
dat's de chief of police, an' d' fellers behind him are police
guards.  'At's old Dangloss himself.  He's a peach, dey say."

A short, grizzly-faced man, attired in a white uniform with red
trimmings, followed by three men similarly garbed, rode by, going
in the direction of the passenger station.  Dangloss, as Sitzky
had called him, was quite small in stature, rather stout,
gray-bearded and eagle-nosed.  His face was keen and red, and
not at all the kind to invite familiarity.  As he passed them the
railroad guard of American citizenship touched his cap and the
two travelers bowed, whereupon the chief of police gave them a
most profound salutation, fairly sweeping his saddleskirts with
his white cap.

"Polite old codger," observed Anguish.

"His company manners.  Just let him get you in d' sweatbox, if
you t'ink he's polite."

"Ever been there?"

"Well," a little confusedly, "I pasted a Graustark
baggage-smasher down in d' yards two weeks ago, an' dey had
me up.  I proved d' feller insulted a lady, an' old Dangloss let
me off, sayin' I'd ought to have a medal.  Dese guys are great on
gallantry when ladies is concerned.  If it hadn't been fer dat,
I'd be in d' lock-up now.  An' say, you ought to see d' lock-up!
It's a tower, wid dungeons an' all dat sort of t'ing.  A man
couldn't no more get out 'n' he could fly up to d' monastery.
Dey're great on law an' order here, too.  D' Princess has issued
strictest kind of rules an' everybody has to live up to 'em like
as if dey was real gospel.  I t'ought I'd put you next, gents,
so's you wouldn't be doin' anyt'ing crooked here."

"Thanks," said Lorry, drily.  "We shall try to conduct ourselves
discreetly in the city."

Probably a quarter mile farther down the narrow, level street
they came to the bazaars, the gaudy stores, and then the hotel.
It was truly a hostelry to inspire respect and admiration in the
mind of such as Sitzky, for it was huge and well equipped with
the modern appointments.  As soon as the two Americans had been
given their rooms, they sent for their luggage.  Then they went
out to the broad piazza, with its columns and marble balustrades,
and looked for Sitzky, remembering their invitation to drink.
The guard had refused to enter the hotel with them, urging them
to allow him to remain on the piazza.  He was not there when they
returned, but they soon saw him.  On the sidewalk he was arguing
with a white-uniformed police guard, and they realized that he
had been ejected from sacred precincts.

They promptly rescued him from the officer, who bowed and strode
away as soon as they interceded.

"Dese fellers is slick enough to see you are swells and I'm not,"
said Sitzky, not a bit annoyed by his encounter.  "I'll bet my
head 'at inside ten minutes old Dangloss will know who you are,
where you come from an' what you're doin' here."

"I'll bet fifty heads he won't find out what we're doing here,"
grinned Anguish, looking at Lorry.  "Well, let's hunt up the
thirst department."

They found the little apartment in which drinks were served at
tables, and before they said good-by to Sitzky in front of the
hotel, a half hour later, that worthy was in exceeding good humor
and very much flushed in the face.  He said he would be back in
two days, and if they needed him for any purpose whatever, they
could reach him by a note at the railway station."

"Funny how you run across an American in every nook and
corner of the world," mused Lorry, as they watched the stocky
ex-man-o'warsman stroll off towards his hotel.

"If we can run across the Guggenslockers as easily, we'll be in
luck.  When shall we begin the hunt?  Tonight?"

"We can make a few inquiries concerning them.  They certainly are
people of importance here."

"I don't see the name on any of the brewery signs around town,"
observed Anguish, consolingly.  "There's evidently no
Guggenslocker here."

They strolled through the streets near the hotel until after six
o'clock, wondering at the quaint architecture, the pretty gardens
and the pastoral atmosphere that enveloped the city.  Everybody
was busy, contented, quiet and happy.  There was no bustle or
strife, no rush, no beggars.  At six they saw hundreds of
workingmen on the streets, going to their homes; shops were
closed and there came to their ears the distant boom of cannon,
evidently fired from different points of the compass and from the
highland as well as the lowland.

"The toy army is shooting off the good-night guns," speculated
Anguish.  "I suppose everybody goes to bed now.

"Or to dinner," substituted Lorry, and they returned to the
Regengetx.  The dining hall was spacious and beautiful, a mixture
of the oriental and the mediaeval.  It rapidly filled.

"Who the dickens can all these people be?  They look well,"
Anguish whispered, as if he feared their nearest neighbors might
understand his English.

"They are unquestionably of the class in which we must expect to
find the Guggenslockers."

Before the meal was over the two strangers saw that they were
attracting a great deal of attention from the other guests of the
house.  The women, as well as the men, were eyeing them and
commenting quite freely, it was easy to see.  These two handsome,
smooth-faced young Americans were as men from another world, so
utterly unlike their companions were they in personal appearance.
They were taller, broader and more powerfully built than the
swarthy-faced men about them, and it was no wonder that the women
allowed admiration to show in their eyes.  Toward the end of the
dinner several officers came in, and the Americans took
particular pains to study them.  They were cleanly-built fellows,
about medium height, wiry and active.  As a class, the men
appeared to average five feet seven inches in height, some a
little taller, some a little shorter.  The two strangers were
over six feet tall, broad-shouldered and athletic.  They looked
like giants among these Graustark men.

"They're not very big, but they look as if they'd be nasty in a
scrap," observed Anguish, unconsciously throwing out his chest.

"Strong as wildcats, I'll wager.  The women are perfect, though.
Have you ever seen a smarter set of women, Harry?"

"Never, never!  A paradise of pretty women.  I believe I'll take
out naturalization papers."

When the two strangers left the dining-room they were conscious
that every eye in the place was upon them.  They drew themselves
to their full height and strode between the tables toward the
door, feeling that as they were on exhibition they ought to
appear to the best advantage.  During the evening they heard
frequent allusions to "the Americans," but could not understand
what was said.  The hotel men were more than obsequious; the
military men and citizens were exceedingly deferential; the women
who strolled on the piazza or in the great garden back of the
hotel were discreetly curious.

"We seem to be the whole show here, Gren," said Anguish, as they
sat down at one of the tables in the garden.

"I guess Americans are rare."

"I've found one fellow who can speak German and French, and not
one, except our guard who can talk English.  That clerk talks
German fairly well.  I never heard such a language as these other
people use.  Say, old man, we'd better make inquiry about our
friends to-night.  That clerk probably won't be on duty to-morrow."

"We'll ask him before we go to bed," agreed Lorry, and upon
leaving the brilliantly lighted garden they sought the landlord
and asked if he could tell them where Caspar Guggenslocker lived.
He looked politely incredulous and thoughtful, and then, with
profound regret, assured them he had never heard the name.  He
said he had lived in Edelweiss all his life, and knew everybody
of consequence in the town.

"Surely there must be such people here," cried Lorry, almost
appealingly.  He felt disheartened and cheated.  Anguish was
biting his lips.

"Oh, possibly among the poorer classes.  If I were you, sir, I
should call on Captain Dangloss, the Chief of Police.  He knows
every soul in Edelweiss.  I am positive I have never heard the
name.  You will find the Captain at the Tower to-morrow
morning."

The two Americans went to bed, one so dismayed by his
disappointment that he could not sleep for hours.




VII

THE LADY IN THE CARRIAGE


They slept rather late in the morning, first because they were
very much fatigued after their long journey, second for the
reason that they had been unable to woo slumber until long past
midnight.  Anguish stretched himself lazily in bed when he heard
Lorry's voice from the adjoining room.

"I suppose we are to consult the police in order to get a clue
to your charmer," he yawned.  "Nice friends you pickup on
railway journeys.  I'd be ashamed."

"Well, Harry, I'll confess I'm disgusted.  This has been the
most idiotic thing I've ever done, and if you say the word we'll
get out of here on the first train--freight or passenger.  The
Guggenslockers--pigs!"  Mr. Lorry was savage.

"Not a bit of it, my boy, not a bit of it.  We'll make a
house-to-house canvass if the police fail us.  Cheer up, cheer up!"

"You go to thunder!"

"Hold on!  Don't talk like that, or I'll go back on you in a
minute.  I'm here because I choose to be, and I've more heart in
the chase at this minute than you have.  I've not lost hope,
We'll find the Guggenslockers if we have to hire detectives to
trace 'em from the United States to their very doorstep.  We're
going to see the police after breakfast."

After breakfast they did go to see the Baron Dangloss.  After
some inquiry they found the gloomy, foreboding prison, and Mr.
Anguish boldly pounded on the huge gates.  A little shutter flew
open, and a man's face appeared.  Evidently he asked what was
wanted, but he might as, well have demanded their lives, so far
were they from understanding his query.

"Baron Dangloss?" asked Anguish, promptly.  The man asked
something else, but as the Americans shook their heads
deprecatingly, he withdrew his face and presently swung open the
gates.  They entered and he closed the doors behind them,
locking them in.  Then he directed them across the court to an
open door in the aged mass of gray stone.  As they strode away
from the guard Lorry created consternation by demanding:

"How are we to talk to the Chief if he doesn't understand us or
we him?  We should lave brought an interpreter."

"I forgot about the confounded language.  But if he's real he
can talk Irish."  Lorry told him he wasn't funny.

"Is this His Excellency, Baron Dangloss?" asked Anguish,
stepping into a small room and stopping suddenly in the presence
of the short, fierce man they had seen the day before.  The
American spoke in French.

"It is, gentlemen.  Of what service can I be to Messieurs Lorry
and Anguish?" responded the grim little Chief, politely rising
from beside his desk.  The visitors looked at one another in
surprise.

"If he knows our names on such short notice, he'll certainly
know the Guggenslockers," said Anguish to his friend, in
English.

"Ah, you are looking for some one named Guggenslocker?" asked
the Chief, smiling broadly and speaking excellent English.  "You
must not be surprised, gentlemen.  I speak many languages.  I
heard last night that you were inquiring about one Caspar
Guggenslocker, and I have racked my brain, searched my books,
questioned my officers, and I am sorry to inform you that there
is no such person in Edelweiss."

"I was so well assured of it, Baron Dangloss," Lorry said.

"The name is totally unknown to me, sir.  May I ask why you are
searching for him?"

"Certainly.  I met Mr. Guggenslocker, his wife and his niece
last spring in the United States.  They invited me to come and
see them if I ever happened to be in this part of the world.  As
my friend and I were near here I undertook to avail myself of
their invitation."

"And they said they lived in Edelweiss, Graustark?"

"They did, and I'll humbly confess I did not know much of the
principality of Graustark."

"That is certainly complimentary, but, then, we are a little out
of the beaten path, so it is pardonable.  I was at first under
the impression that you were American detectives with
extradition papers for criminals bearing the name you mention."

"Oh!" gasped Anguish.  "We couldn't find ourselves if we should
be separated, Captain."

The grizzly-bearded Captain laughed lightly with them, and then
asked Lorry if he would object to giving him the full story of
his acquaintanceship with the alleged Graustarkians.  The
bewildered and disheartened American promptly told all he knew
about them, omitting certain tender details, of course.  As he
proceeded the Chief grew more and more interested, and, when at
last Lorry came to the description of the strange trio, he gave
a sudden start, exposed a queer little smile for a second or so,
and then was as sphynxlike as before.  The ever-vigilant Anguish
observed the involuntary start and smile, quick as the Chief had
been to recover himself, and felt a thrill of triumph.  To his
anger and impatience, however, the old officer calmly shook his
head at the end of the narrative, and announced that he was as
much in the dark as ever.

"Well, we'll search awhile for ourselves," declared Anguish,
stubbornly, not at all satisfied.

"You will be wasting your time," said the Chief, meaningly.

"We've plenty to waste," retorted the other.

After a few moments they departed, Baron Dangloss accompanying
them to the gate and assuring them that he and his men always
would be at their command.  His nation admired the American
people, he warmly declared.

"That old codger knows our people, and I'll bet a thousand on
it," said Harry, angrily, when they had gone some little
distance down the street.  Then he told of the queer exposure
Dangloss had unwittingly made.  Lorry, more excited than he
cared to show, agreed that there was something very suspicious
about this new discovery.

They walked about the quaint town for an hour or two, examining
the buildings, the people and the soldiery with deep interest.
From the head of the main street,--Castle Avenue,--they could
plainly see the royal palace, nearly a mile away.  Its towers
and turrets, gray and gaunt, ran up among the green tree-tops
and were outlined plainly against the yellow hills.  Countless
houses studded the steep mountain slope, and many people were
discerned walking and riding along the narrow, ledge-like
streets which wound toward the summit, far up in the clouds.
Clearly and distinctly could be seen the grim monastery, perched
at the very pinnacle of the mountain, several miles away.  Up
there it looked bleak and cold and uninviting, in great contrast
to the loveliness and warmth of the valley.  Down below the
grass was moist and soft, trees were approaching the stage where
yellow and red tints mingle with the rich green, flowers were
blooming, the land was redolent of the sweet fragrance of
autumn, the atmosphere warm, clear and invigorating.  It was
paradise surmounted by desolation, drear and deadening.

Wherever the tall, distinguished Americans walked they formed
the center of observation, and were the cause of comment that
bore unmistakable signs of admiration.  They bowed pleasantly to
many of those who passed them, and received in return gracious
and profound recognition.  Military men saluted courteously; the
women stared modestly and prettily--perhaps covetously; the
merchants and citizens in general bowed and smiled a welcome
that could not have been heartier.  The strangers remarked the
absence of vehicles on the main streets.  There were pack mules
and horses, human carriers--both male and female--but during the
entire morning they saw not more than six or eight carriages.
Vehicles were used solely by the quality and as a means of
transportation for their persons only.  Everybody, with the few
exceptions mentioned, walked or rode horseback.  The two friends
were delighted with the place, and Anguish advocated a sojourn
of several weeks, even though they did not find the
Guggenslockers, his object being to secure photographs and
sketches of the picturesque people and the strange scenery, and
to idle away some hours upon the glittering boulevards.
Grenfall, since he was in the project so deeply, was so nearly
reconciled as to be exhilarated by the plan.  They decided to
visit the royal grounds in the afternoon, providing there was no
prohibition, reserving a ride up the hill for the next day.  A
gendarme who spoke German fairly well told them that they could
enter the palace park if they obtained a signed order from the
chief steward, who might be found at any time in his home near
the gates.

They were strolling leisurely toward the hotel, for the moment
forgetting their quest in this strange, sunny land, when they
espied a carriage, the most conspicuous of any they had seen.
The white horses were gaily caparisoned, the driver and the
footman beside him wore rich uniforms, the vehicle itself
gleamed and glistened with gold and silver trimmings.  A short
distance behind rode two young soldiers, swords to their
shoulders, scabbards clanking against their stirrups.  Each was
attired in the tight red trousers, shiny boots, close-fitting
black coat with gilt trimmings, and the red cap which the
Americans had noted before because of its brilliancy.  People
along the street were bowing deeply to the occupants, two
ladies.

"Harry!  Look!" exclaimed Lorry, clutching his friend's arm like
a vise.  "There in the carriage--on this side!"  His voice was
hoarse and trembling.

"Miss Gug--Guggenslocker?" cried Anguish.

"Yes!  Yes!"  They had stopped and Lorry was grasping a garden
wall with one hand.

"Then it's funny nobody knows the name here.  She seems to be
someone of consequence.  Good heaven, I don't blame you!  She's
the most beautiful--"

By this time the carriage was almost opposite and within forty
feet of where they stood.  The ladies, Miss Guggenslocker's
companion as young and almost as beautiful as herself had not
observed the agitated two, but Lorry's face was beaming, his hat
was off, and he was ready to spring to the carriage side at a
moment's warning.  Then the young girl at the side of the woman
whose beauty had drawn a man half around the world saw the tall
strangers, and called her companion's attention to them.  Once
more Grenfall Lorry and Miss Guggenslocker were looking into
each other's eyes.

The lady started violently, her eyes grew wide, her lips parted,
and her body was bent forward eagerly, a little gloved hand
grasping the side of the open carriage.  Her "ideal American"
was bowing low, as was the tall fellow at his side.  When he
looked up again his eyes were glowing, his handsome face was
flushed, and he saw her smile, blush furiously and incline her
head gravely.  The carriage had swept past, but she turned her
head, and he detected an appealing glance in her eyes, a
perplexed wrinkle across her brow, both of which were swept away
an instant later by the most bewitching of smiles.  Again her
head was inclined, this time a trifle more energetically, and
then the maddening face was turned from him.  The equipage
rolled onward, and there was no effort on her part to check its
progress.  The men were left standing alone and disappointed on
the streets of Edelweiss, the object of their search slipping
away as soon as she had been found.  Her companion was amazed by
the little scene, it was evident, judging by the eager look on
her face as she turned with a question in her eyes.

"Turned down!" exclaimed the irrepressible Anguish, dolefully.
"That's pretty shabby treatment, old man.  But she's quite worth
the journey."

"I'll not go back to America without her.  Do you hear that,
Harry Anguish?"  He was excited and trembling.  "But why didn't
she stop?" he went on, dismally.

"Oh, you dear old fool!" said Anguish.

The two stood looking after the carriage until it turned into a
side street, half way down the shady stretch toward the castle.
They saw her companion glance back, but could not tell whether
she did or not.  Lorry looked uneasily at Anguish, and the
latter read his thought.

"You are wondering about the Guggenslocker name, eh?  I'll
tell you what I've worked out during the past two minutes.  Her
name is no more Guggenslocker than mine is.  She and the uncle
used that name as a blind.  Mark my words, she's quality over
here; that's all there is about it.  Now, we must find out just
who she really is.  Here comes a smart-looking soldier chap.
Let's ask him, providing we can make him understand."

A young soldier approached, leisurely twirling a cane, for he
was without his side arms.  Anguish accosted him in French and
then in German.  He understood the latter and was very polite.

"Who was the young lady in the carriage that just passed?" asked
Lorry, eagerly,

The face of the soldier flushed and then grew pale with anger.

"Hold on!  I beg pardon, but we are strangers and don't quite
understand your ways.  I can't see anything improper in asking
such a question," said Anguish, attempting to detain him.  The
young man struck his hand from his arm and his eyes fairly
blazed.

"You must learn our ways.  We never pass comment on a lady.  If
you do so in your land, I am sorry for your ladies.  I refuse to
be questioned by you.  Stand aside, fellow!"

Anguish stood aside in astonishment, and they watched the
wrathful gallant strut down the street, his back as stiff as a
board.

"Damned touchy!" growled Anguish.

"You remember what Sitzky said about their respect for the
weaker sex.  I guess we'd better keep off that tack or we'll
hatch up a duel or two.  They seem to be fire-eaters.  We must
content ourselves witch searching out her home and without
assistance, too.  I've cooled off a bit, Harry, and, now that
I've seen her, I'm willing to go slowly and deliberately.  Let's
take our time and be perfectly cool.  I am beginning to agree
with your incog. proposition.  It's all clearing up in my mind
now.  We'll go back to the hotel and get ready for the visit to
the palace grounds."

"Don't you intend to hunt her up?  'Gad, I wouldn't miss a
minute if I had a chance to be with a girl like that!  And the
other was no scarecrow.  She is rather a beauty, too.  Greatest
town for pretty women I ever struck.  Vienna is out of it
entirely."

They strolled on to the hotel, discussing the encounter in all
its exhilarating details.  Scarcely had they seated themselves
on the piazza, after partaking of a light luncheon, when a man
came galloping up to the walk in front of the hotel.  Throwing
his bridle rein to a guard, he hastened to the piazza.  His
attire was that of a groom and something about him reminded them
of the footman who sat beside the driver of the carriage they
had seen a short time before.  He came straight to where the
Americans sat smoking and, bowing low, held before them an
envelope.  The address was "Grenfall Lorry Esq.," but the man
was in doubt as to which was he.

Lorry grasped the envelope, tore it open, and drew forth a
daintily written note.  It read:

"My Dear Mr. Lorry:

"I was very much surprised to see you this morning--I may add
that I was delighted.  If you will accompany this messenger when
he calls for you at three o'clock tomorrow afternoon, he will
conduct you to my home, where I shall truly be charmed to see
you again.  Will you bring your friend?

                              "SOPHIA GUGGENSLOCKER."

Lorry could have embraced the messenger.  There was a suspicion
of breathlessness in his voice when he tried to say calmly to
Harry:

"An invitation for to-morrow."

"I knew it would come that way."

"Also wants you to come."

"Sha'n't I be in the way?"

"Not at all, my boy.  I'll accept for you.  After this fellow
goes, I'll let you read the note.  Wait until I write an
answer."

Motioning for the man to remain, he hastened to his room, pulled
out some stationery, and feverishly wrote:

"My Dear Miss Guggenslocker:

"I shall be delighted to accompany your messenger to-morrow, and
my friend, Mr, Harry Anguish, will be with me.  I have come half
way across the continent to see you, and I shall be repaid if I
am with you but for a moment.  You will pardon me if I say that
your name has caused me despair.  No one seems to have heard it
here, and I was beginning to lose hope.  You may expect me at
three, and I thank you for the pleasure you bestow.

                     "Yours sincerely,
                               "GRENFALL LORRY."

This note, part of which had been written with misgiving, he
gave to the messenger, who rode away quickly.

"She didn't wait long to write to you, I notice.  Is it possible
she is suffering from the effects of those three days on the
other side of the Atlantic?  Come to think of it, she blushed
when she saw you this morning," said Anguish.  Lorry handed him
her note, which he read and then solemnly shook hands with its
recipient.  "Congratulations.  I am a very farsighted young man,
having lived in Paris."




VIII

THE ABDUCTION OF A PRINCESS


That afternoon they went to the palace grounds and inquired for
the chief steward.  After a few moments they were shown to his
office in a small dwelling house just inside the gates.  The
steward was a red-faced little man, pleasant and accommodating.
He could speak German--in fact, he was a German by birth--and
they had no difficulty in presenting their request.  Mr.
Fraasch--Jacob Fraasch--was at first dubious, but their frank,
eager faces soon gained for them his consent to see that part of
the great park open to the public.  Beyond certain lines they
were not to trespass.  Anguish asked how they could be expected
to distinguish these lines, being unacquainted, and the steward
grimly informed them that the members of the royal guard would
establish the lines so plainly that it would be quite clear.

He then wrote for them a pass to the grounds of the royal palace
of Graustark, affixing his seal.  In giving this last to them he
found occasion to say that the princess had instructed him to
extend every courtesy possible to an American citizen.  It was
then that Anguish asked if he might be permitted to use his
camera.  There was an instant and emphatic refusal, and they
were told that the pass would be rescinded if they did not leave
the camera outside the gates.  Reluctantly Anguish deposited his
luckless box in the steward's office, and they passed into the
broad avenue which led towards the palace.

A guard, who served also as a guide, stepped to their side
before they had taken ten paces.  Where he came from they never
knew, so instantaneous was his appearance.  He remained with
them during the two hours spent in the wonderful park.

The palace stood in the northwestern part of the grounds,
possibly a half mile from the base of the mountain.  Its front
faced the mountain side.  The visitors were not permitted to go
closer than a quarter of a mile from the structure, but attained
a position from which it could be seen in all its massive,
ancient splendor.  Anguish, who had studied churches and old
structures, painted the castles on the Rhine, and was something
of a connoisseur in architecture, was of the opinion that it had
been standing for more than five hundred years.  It was a vast,
mediaeval mass of stone, covered with moss and ivy, with towers,
turrets and battlements.  There had been a moat in bygone
days, but modern ideas had transformed the waterway into solid,
level ground.  This they learned afterwards.  Broad avenues
approached in several directions, the castle standing at the far
side of a wide circle or parade ground.  The open space before
the balconies was fully three hundred yards square, and was
paved.  From each side stretched the velvety green with its
fountains, its trees, its arbors, its flowers, its grottos and
its red-legged soldiers.

The park was probably a mile square, and was surrounded by a
high wall, on the top of which were little guard-houses and
several masked cannon.  In all their travels the Americans had
not seen a more delightful bit of artifice, and they wandered
about with a serene content that would have appealed to anyone
but their voiceless guide.  He led them about the place,
allowing them to form their own conclusions, draw their own
inferences and make their own calculations.  His only acts were
to salute the guards who passed and to present arms when he had
conducted his charges to the edge of forbidden territory.  When
they had completed their tour of inspection their guide rapidly
led the way to the wall that encircled the grounds, reaching it
at a point not far from the castle itself.  Here was situated
another large gate, through which they did not pass.  Instead,
they ascended some steps and came out upon the high wall.  The
top of this wall was several feet wide, and walking was
comparatively safe.  They soon understood the guide's design.
The object was to walk along this wall until they reached the
main gate.  Why this peculiar course was to be taken they could
not imagine at first.  Anguish's fertile brain came to the
rescue.  He saw a number of women in a distant part of the
grounds, and, remembering their guide's haste in conducting them
to the wall, rightly conjectured that it was against custom for
visitors to meet and gaze upon members of the royal household.
The men and women, none of whom could be plainly distinguished
from the far-away wall, were undoubtedly a part of the castle's
family, and were not to be subjected to the curious gaze of
sightseers.  Perhaps Her Royal Highness, the Princess of
Graustark, was among them.

They reached the main gate and descended, Anguish securing his
camera, after which they thanked the steward and turned to fee
the guide.  But he had disappeared as if the ground had
swallowed him.

"Well, it's a fair Versailles," observed Anguish, as they walked
down the street, glancing back at the frowning wall.

"It all goes to make me wonder why in the name of heaven we have
never heard of this land of Graustark," said Lorry, still
thinking of the castle's grandeur.

"My boy, there are lots of things we don't know.  We're too
busy.  Don't you remember that but one-half the world knows how
the other half lives?  I'll wager there are not twenty-five
people in the United States who know there is such a country as
Graustark."

"I don't believe that a single soul over there has heard of the
place," vouchsafed Lorry, very truthfully.

"I'll accept the amendment," said Anguish.  Then he proceeded to
take a snap-shot of the castle from the middle of the street.
He also secured a number of views of the mountain side, of some
odd little dwelling houses, and two or three interesting
exposures of red-robed children.  Everybody, from the children
up, wore loose robes, some red, some black, some blue, but all
in solid colors.  Beneath these robes were baggy trousers and
blouses among the men, short skirts among the women.  All wore
low boots and a sort of turban.  These costumes, of course, were
confined to the native civilians.  At the hotel the garb of the
aristocrats was vastly different.  The women were gowned after
the latest Viennese patterns, and the men, except those of the
army, wore clothes almost as smart as those which covered the
Americans.  Miss Guggenslocker--or whatever her name might
be--and her carriage companion were as exquisitely gowned as
any women to be seen on the boulevards or in Hyde Park of an
afternoon.

It was late in the afternoon when they returned to the hotel.
After dinner, during which they were again objects of interest,
they strolled off towards the castle, smoking their cigars and
enjoying the glorious air.  Being a stranger in a strange land,
Lorry acted on the romantic painter's advice and also stuck a
revolver in his pocket.  He laughed at the suggestion tha
there might be use for the weapon in such a quiet, model,
well-regulated town, but Anguish insisted:

"I've seen a lot of these fellows around town who look like
genuine brigands and cutthroats, and I think it just as well
that we be prepared," asserted he, positively, and his friend
gratified what he called a whim.

At ten o'clock the slender moon dropped behind the mountain, and
the valley, which had been touched with its tender light,
gradually took on the somberness and stillness of a star-lit
night.  The town slumbered at eleven, and there were few lights
to be seen in the streets or in the houses.  Here and there
strolled the white-uniformed police guards; occasionally
soldiers hurried barracksward; now and then belated citizens
moved through the dense shadows on the sidewalks, but the
Americans saw still life in its reality.  Returning from their
stroll beside the castle-walls, far to the west of where they
had entered the grounds that afternoon, they paused in the
middle of Castle Avenue, near the main gate, and looked down the
dark, deserted street, Far away could be seen the faint glare
from their hotel; one or two street-lamps burned in the business
part of the city; aside from these evidences of life there was
nothing but darkness, silence, peacefulness about them
everywhere.

"Think of Paris or New York at eleven o'clock," said Lorry, a
trifle awed by the solitude of the sleeping city.

"It's as dead as a piece of prairie-land," said his friend.
"'Gad, it makes me sleepy to look down that street.  It's a mile
to the hotel, too, Lorry.  We'd better move along."

"Let's lie down near the hedge, smoke another cigar and wait
till midnight.  It is too glorious a night to be lost in sleep,"
urged Lorry, whose heart was light over the joys of the day to
come.  "I can dream just as well here, looking at that dark old
castle with its one little tower-light, as I could if I tried to
sleep in a hard bed down at the hotel."

Anguish, who was more or less of a dreamer himself, consented,
and, after lighting fresh cigars, they threw themselves on the
soft, dry grass near the tall hedge that fenced the avenue as it
neared the castle grounds.  For half an hour they talked by fits
and starts; long silences were common, broken only by brief
phrases which seemed so to disturb the one to whom they were
addressed that he answered gruffly and not at all politely.
Their, cigars, burnt to mere stubs, were thrown away, and still
the waking dreamers stretched themselves in the almost
impenetrable shade of the hedge, one thinking of the face he had
seen, the other picturing in his artist eye the painting he had
vowed to create from the moon-lit castle of an hour ago.

"Some one coming," murmured the painter, half rising to his
elbow attentively.

"Soldiers," said the other briefly.  "They'll not disturb us."

"They'll not even see us, I should say.  It's as dark as Egypt
under this hedge.  They'll pass if we keep quiet."

The figures of two men could be seen approaching from the city,
dim and ghostly in the semi-blackness of the night.  Like two
thieves the Americans waited for them to pass.  To their
exceeding discomfiture, however, the pedestrians halted directly
in front of their resting place and seated themselves leisurely
upon a broad, flat stone at the roadside.  It was too dark to
see if they were soldiers, notwithstanding the fact that they
were less than fifteen feet away.

"He should be here at twelve," said one of the new comers in a
low voice and in fairly good English.  The other merely grunted.
There was a silence of some duration, broken by the first
speaker.

"If this job fails and you are caught it will mean years of
servitude."

"But in that case we are to have ten thousand gavvos apiece for
each year we lie in prison.  It's fair pay--not only for our
failure, but for our silence," said the other, whose English was
more difficult to understand.

Anguish's fingers gripped Lorry's leg, but there was no sound
from either of the thoroughly aroused dreamers.  "A plot, as I
live," thought each, with a thrill.

"We must be careful to speak only in English.  There are not
twenty people in Edelweiss who understand it, but the night has
ears.  It is the only safe tongue.  Geddos speaks it well.  He
should be here."  It was the first speaker who uttered these
words, little knowing that he had listeners other than the man
to whom he spoke.

A dark figure shot across the roadway, and, almost before the
Americans were aware of it, the party numbered three.

"Ah, Geddos, you are punctual."

"I have found it ever a virtue." responded the newcomer.

"Have you secured your men?"

"I have, your--"

"Sh!  Call me Michael, on your life!  They are ready and willing
to undertake the venture?"

"Yes, but they do not understand the true conditions.  I have
told them that we are to rob the castle and carry the booty to
Ganlook before morning."

"They do not know the real object of the raid, then.  That is as
I desired.  Are they trusty and experienced men?"

"The best--or the worst--that I could find in Vienna.  Not one
understands our language, and they are so ignorant of our town
that they are entirely dependent on me.  They know nothing
whatever of the Princess, Michael, and will do only as they are
told, realizing that if caught they will be guillotined.  I have
told them it is the royal palace we are to rifle.  Ostrom, here,
and I are the only ones, except yourself and the men who will
aid us inside the castle, who know the truth, sir."

"It cannot fail, unless those inside prove false or unworthy,"
said the hoarse-voiced Ostrom.  Anguish's fingers were gripping
Lorry's leg so fiercely that the blood was ready to burst out,
but he did not feel the pain.  Here, then, was some gigantic
plot in which the person of the Princess herself was to be
considered.  Was it an assassination?

"You have five of these Viennese?"

"Yes.  Two to stand beneath the window to receive the booty as
we lower it to the ground, one to stand guard at the west gate
and two to attend the carriage and horses in the ravine beyond
the castle."

"When did these men arrive?"

"This morning.  I kept them in my sister's home until an hour
ago.  They are now in the ravine, awaiting Ostrom and myself.
Are you sure, Michael, that the guards and the cook have been
made to understand every detail?  The faintest slip will mean
ruin."

"They are to be trusted fully.  Their pay is to be high enough
to make it an object to be infallible.  The guard, Dushan, will
leave the gate unwatched, and you will chloroform him--with his
consent, of course.  You will enter, as I have explained before,
crawl along in the dark shadow of the wall until you reach the
arbor that leads to the kitchen and scullery.  Here another
guard, Rabbo--known to Ostrom as a comrade in Her Royal
Highness's service not more than a year ago--will be
encountered.  He will be bound and gagged without the least
noise or struggle.  Just as the clock strikes two the cook will
walk past the scullery window, in the basement, thrice, carrying
a lighted candle.  You will see this light through the window,
and will know that all is well inside the castle.  Ostrom, you
will then lead the two Viennese to a place directly beneath the
third window in the Princess's sleeping apartment.  There are
several clumps of shrubbery there, and under these they will
hide, protected from the gaze of any watchman who is not with
us.  You and Geddos will be admitted to the scullery by the
cook, who will conduct you to the hall leading to Her Highness's
bed-room.  The man who guards her door is called Dannox.  He
will not be at his post, but will accompany you when you leave
the castle.  You will understand how carefully you must enter
her room and how deeply she must be chloroformed.  In the
adjoining room her lady-in-waiting, the Countess Dagmar, sleeps.
If her door is ajar, you are to creep in and chloroform her,
leaving her undisturbed.  Then the Princess is to be wrapped in
the cloth you take with you and lowered from the window to the
men below.  They are to remain in hiding until you have left the
castle and have reached their side.  It will not be difficult,
if caution is observed, for you to get outside of the wall and
to the carriage in the ravine.  I have given you this plan of
action before, I know, but I desire to impress it firmly upon
your minds.  There must not be the slightest deviation.  The
precision of clock-work is necessary."

The man named Michael hissed the foregoing into the ears of his
companions, the palsied Americans hearing every word distinctly.
They scarcely breathed, so tremendous was the restraint imposed
upon their nerves.  A crime so huge, so daring as the abduction
of a Princess, the actual invasion of a castle to commit the
theft of a human being just as an ordinary burglar would steal
in and make way with the contents of a silver chest, was beyond
their power of comprehension.

"We understand fully how it is to be done, and we shall get her
to Ganlook on time," said Geddos, confidently.

"Not a hair of her head must be harmed," cautioned the
arch-conspirator.  "In four days I shall meet you at Ganlook.
You will keep her in close confinement until you hear from me.
Have you the guard's uniforms that you are to wear to-night?"

"They are with the carriage in the ravine; Ostrom and I will don
them before going to the castle.  In case we are seen they will
throw observers off the track long enough for us to secure a
good start in our flight."

"Remember, there is to be no failure.  This may mean death to
you; certainly a long prison term if you are apprehended.  I
know it is a daring deed, but it is just of the kind that
succeeds.  Who would dream that mortal man could find the
courage to steal a princess of the realm from her bed and spirit
her away from under the very noses of her vaunted guardsmen?  It
is the bold, the impossible plan that wins."

"We cannot fail if your men on the inside do their work well,"
said Geddos, repeating what Ostrom had said.  "All depends on
their faithfulness."

"They will not be found wanting.  Your cut-throats must be sent
on to Caias with the empty carriage after you have reached
Ganlook in safety.  You will need them no more.  Ostrom will pay
them, and they are to leave the country as quickly as possible.
At Caias they will be able to join a pack-train that will carry
them to the Great Northern Railroad.  From there they will have
no trouble in reaching Vienna.  You will explain to them,
Geddos.  All we need them for, as you know, is to prove by their
mere presence in case of capture that the attempt was no more
than a case of burglary conceived by a band of Viennese robbers.
There will be no danger of capture if you once get her outside
the walls.  You can be half way to Ganlook before she is missed
from the castle.  Nor can she be found at Ganlook if you follow
the instructions I gave last night.  It is now nearly one
o'clock, and in half an hour the night will be as dark as
Erebus.  Go, men; you have no more time to lose, for this must
be accomplished slowly, carefully, deliberately.  There must be
no haste until you are ready for the race to Ganlook.  Go, but
for God's sake, do not harm her!  And do not fail!"

"Failure means more to us than to you, Michael," half whispered
the hoarse Ostrom.

"Failure means everything to me!  I must have her!"

Already the two hirelings were moving off toward the road that
ran west of the castle grounds.  Michael watched them for a
moment and then started swiftly in the direction of the city.
The watchers had not been able to distinguish the faces of the
conspirators, but they could never forget the calm, cold voice
of Michael, with its quaint, jerky English.

"What shall we do?" whispered Anguish when the men were out of
hearing.

"God knows!" answered Lorry.  "This is the most damnable thing I
ever heard of.  Are we dreaming?  Did we really see and hear
those men?" He had risen to his feet, his companion sitting
weakly before him.

"There's no question about it!  It's a case of abduction, and we
have it in our power to spoil the whole job.  By Gad, but this
is luck, Gren!"  Anguish was quivering with excitement as he
rose to his feet.  "Shall we notify old Dangloss or alarm the
steward?  There's no time to be lost if we want to trap these
fellows.  The chief devil is bound to escape, for we can't get
him and the others, too, and they won't peach on him.  Come, we
must be lively!  What are you standing there for?  Damn it, the
trap must be set!"

"Wait!  Why not do the whole job ourselves?"

"How-what do you mean?"

"Why should we alarm anybody?  We know the plans as well as these
scoundrels themselves.  Why not follow them right into the
castle, capture them red-handed, and then do the alarming?  I'm
in for saving the Princess of Graustark with our own hands and
right under the noses of her vaunted guardsmen, as Michael says."
Lorry was thrilled by the spirit of adventure.  His hand gripped
his friend's arm and his face was close to his ear.  "It is the
grandest opportunity two human beings ever had to distinguish
themselves!"

"Great heaven, man!  We can't do such a thing!" gasped Anguish.

"It's the easiest thing in the world.  Besides, if we fail, we
have nothing to lose.  If we succeed, see what we've done!  Don't
hesitate, old man!  Come on!  Come on!  We'll take 'em ourselves,
as sure as fate.  Have you no nerve?  What kind of an American
are you?  This chance won't come in ten lifetimes!  Good God,
man, are we not equal to those two scoundrels?"

"Two?  There are at least ten of them!"

"You fool!  The three guards are disposed of in advance, two of
the Viennese are left with the horses, two are chucked off under
the princess' window, and one stands at the gate.  We can slug
the man at the gate, the fellows under the window are harmless,
and that leaves but our two friends and the cook.  We have every
advantage in the world.  Can't you see?"

"You are right!  Come on!  I'll risk it with you.  We will save
the Princess of Graustark!"

"Don't you see it will be just as easy for us to enter the castle
as for these robbers?  The way will be clear, and will be kept
clear.  Jove, man, we need not be more than thirty seconds behind
them.  Is your pistol all right?"

By this time the two men were speeding along the grassy stretch
toward the road that ran beside the wall.  They looked to their
pistols, and placed them carefully in outside coat pockets.

"We must throw away these heavy canes," whispered the painter to
his friend, who was a pace or so ahead.

"Keep it!  We'll need one of them to crack that fellow's head at
the gate.  'Gad, it's dark along here!"

"How the devil are we to know where to go?"

"We'll stop when we come to the gate where we climbed up the wall
to-day.  That is the only entrance I saw along the west wall, and
it is near the castle.  Just as soon as the gang enters that gate
we'll crawl up and get rid of the fellow who stands watch."
It was so dark that they could barely see the roadway, and they
found it necessary to cease talking as they slunk along beside
the wall.  Occasionally they paused to listen, fearing that they
might draw too close upon the men who had gone before.  At last
they came to a big gate and halted.

"Is this the gate?" whispered Anguish.

"Sh!  Yes, I'm quite sure.  We are undoubtedly near the castle,
judging by the distance we have come.  Let us cross the road and
lie directly opposite.  Be careful!"

Like panthers they stole across the road and down a short, grassy
embankment.  At Anguish's suggestion Lorry wrapped his
handkerchief tightly about the heavy end of his cane, preparing
in that way to deaden the sound of the blow that was to fall upon
the Vienna man's head.  Then they threw aside their hats,
buttoned their coats tightly, and sank down to wait, with
bounding hearts and tingling nerves, the arrival of the
abductors, mutely praying that they were at the right gate.




IX

THE EXPLOIT OF LORRY AND ANGUISH


During the half hour spent in the grassy ditch or gutter, they
spoke not more than half a dozen times and in the faintest of
whispers.  They could hear the guard pacing the driveway inside
the ponderous gate, but aside from his footsteps no sound was
distinguishable.  A sense of oppression came over the two
watchers as the minutes grew longer and more deathlike in their
stillness.  Each found himself wondering why the leaves did not
stir in the trees, why there were no nightbirds, no crickets, no
croaking frogs, no sign of life save that steady, clocklike tread
inside the wall.  So dark was it that the wall itself was but a
deeper shadow against the almost opaque blackness beyond.  No
night, it seemed to them, had ever been so dark, so still.  After
the oppression came the strange feeling of dread, the result of
an enforced contemplation of the affair in which they were to
take a hand, ignorant of everything except the general plan.

They knew nothing of the surroundings.  If they failed, there was
the danger of being shot by the guards before an explanation
could be made.  If they succeeded, it must be through sheer good
fortune and not through prowess of mind or muscle.  Once inside
the castle, how could they hope to follow the abductors at a safe
distance and still avoid the danger of being lost or of running
into trusty guards?  The longer they lay there the more hazardous
became the part they had so recklessly ventured to play.  In the
heart of each there surged a growing desire to abandon the plan,
yet neither could bring himself to the point of proposing the
retreat from the inspired undertaking.  Both knew the sensible,
judicious act would be to alarm the guards and thus avoid all
possible chance of a fiasco.  With misgivings and doubts in their
hearts the two self-appointed guardians of the Princess lay there
upon the grass, afraid to give up the project, yet fearing the
outcome.

"The dickens will be to pay, Lorry, if they dispose of this guard
on the inside and lock the gate.  Then how are we to follow?"
whispered Anguish.

Lorry was thoughtful for a while.  He felt the chill of
discouragement in his heart.

"In that case we must lie outside and wait till they come out
with the Princess.  Then make a sudden assault and rescue her.
In the darkness we can make them think there are a dozen
rescuers," he whispered at length.  After a while Anguish asked
another appalling question, the outgrowth of brain-racking study:

"Suppose these fellows, who will be in guards' uniform, should
turn about and capture us.  What then?  We are strangers, and our
story would not be believed.  They could slip away in the
excitement and leave us in a very awkward position."

"Harry, if we are going to hatch up all sorts of possibilities,
let's give up the thing right now.  I have thought of a thousand
contingencies, and I realize how desperate the job is to be.  We
must either cast discretion to the winds or we must retreat.
Which shall we do?"

"Cast aside discretion and hang our fears," said the other, once
more inspired.  "We'll take chances and hope for the best.  If we
see we are going to fail we can then call for the guards.  The
grounds are doubtless full of soldiers.  The only part I'm
worried about is the groping through that strange, dark castle."

"We must do some calculating and we must stick close together.
By watching where they station the two Viennese we can figure
about what direction we must take to get to the Princess's room.
Sh!  Isn't that some one approaching?"

They strained their ears for a moment and then involuntarily,
spasmodically shook hands, each heaving the deep breath of
excitement.  The stealthy rustle of moving bodies was heard,
faint, but positive.  It was a moment of suspense that would have
strained the nerve of a stone image.  Where were the abductors?
On which side of the road and from what direction did they come?
Oh, for the eyes of a cat!

There was a slight shuffling of feet near the gate, a suppressed
"Sh?" and then deathly silence.  The gate opened, a faint
creaking attesting the fact, followed by the heavy breathing of
men, the noise of subdued activity, the scent of chloroform.
Some whispering, and then the creaking of the gate.

"They've gone," whispered Anguish.  Lorry's form arose to a
crouching posture and a moment later he was crossing the road
with the tread of a cat, his cane gripped firmly in his hard.
Anguish followed with drawn revolver.  So still was their
approach that they were upon the figure of a man before they were
aware of the fact.  In the darkness the foremost American saw the
outline of a human figure bending over a long object on the
ground.  He could smell chloroform strongly, and grasped the
situation.  The Viennese was administering the drug, his
companions having left that duty for him to perform.  No doubt
the treacherous guardsman was lying calmly on his back, bound and
gagged, welcoming unconsciousness with a smile of security.

As soon as Lorry gained his bearings fully he prepared to fell
the wretch who was to stand watch.  Anguish heard his friend's
figure suddenly shoot to an erect position.  A whirring sound as
of disturbed air and then a dull thud.  Something rolled over on
the ground, and all was still.  He was at Lorry's side in an
instant.

"I hope I haven't killed him," whispered, Lorry.  "Quick!  Here
is his bottle of ether.  Hold it beneath his nose.  I am going to
pile the body of this guard crosswise on top of him.  He will not
be able to arise if he should recover consciousness."

All this was done in a moment's time, and the two trackers were
headed for the entrance.

The gate was ajar two or three feet.  With turbulent hearts, they
stole through.

"Keep along the wall," whispered Lorry, "and trust to luck.  The
castle is to the left."

Without hesitation they crept over the noiseless grass, close
beside the wall.  Directly they heard sounds near at hand.  The
abductors were binding and chloroforming the guard at the arbor.
After waiting for some moments they heard the party glide away in
the darkness, and followed.  The body of the guard was lying just
outside the mouth of the arbor, and the odor of chloroform was
almost overpowering.  Once inside the long arbor, the Americans
moved slowly and with greater caution.  There was a dim light in
a basement window ahead.  Toward the front of the castle and in
the second story a faint glow came from another window.  They
guessed it to be from the Princess' room or from that of the
countess.

At last they saw four figures steal past the dim basement light.
One of them halted near the window, and three crept away in the
darkness.  Presently one of them returned, and all activity was
at an end for the time being.  How near it was to two o'clock the
watchers could not tell.  They only knew that they were within
twenty-five feet of Geddos and Ostrom, and that they would not
have long to wait.

Soon a bright little blaze of light crossed the basement opening.
Then it returned, crossing a second time, and a third.  All was
still again.  The soft shuffle of a foot, the rustle of arbor
vines, and the form of a man crawled up to the window.  With
inconceivable stealth and carefulness it glided through the
aperture, followed by a companion.

Lorry and Anguish were at the opening a second or two later,
lying flat on their stomachs and listening for sounds from
within.  The dim light was still there, the window was open, and
there was a sound of whispering.  Lorry raised his head and
peered through, taking calculations while the light made it
possible.  He saw an open door on the opposite side of the low
room, with steps beyond, leading upward.  Between the window and
the door there were no obstacles.  Up those steps he saw three
men creep, the leader carrying the dim light.  The door was left
open, doubtless to afford unimpeded exit from the building in
case of emergency.  Harry Anguish touched Lorry's arm.

"I took the two pistols from that Vienna man out there.  We may
need them.  Here is one for yourself.  Go first, Lorry," he
whispered.

Lorry stuck the revolver in his coat pocket and gently slid
through the window to the floor below.  His friend followed, and
they paused to listen.  Taking Anguish by the hand the other led
the way straight to the spot where he remembered seeing the door.

Boldly the two men began the breathless ascent of the stone
steps.  The top was reached, and far ahead, down a narrow hall,
they saw the three men and the dim light moving.  Two of them
wore uniforms of guards.  Keeping close to the wall their
followers crept after them.  Up another flight of steps they
went, and then through a spacious hall.  The Americans had no
time and no desire to inspect their surroundings.  The wide doors
at the far side of the room opened softly, and here the trio
paused.  Down a great marble hallway a dim red light shed its
soft glow.  It came from the lamp at the foot of the broad
staircase.

The cook pointed to the steps, and then gave his thumb a jerk
toward the left.  Without the least sign of fear Geddos and
Ostrom glided into the hall and made for the staircase.  The
watchers could not but feel a thrill of admiration for these
daring wretches.  But now a new danger confronted them.  The cook
remained standing in the doorway, watching his fellows in crime!
How were they to pass him?

There was no time to be lost.  The abductors were creeping up the
steps already, and the cook must be disposed of.  He had blown
out the light which he carried, and was now a very dim shadow.
Lorry glided forward and in an instant stood before the amazed
fellow, jamming a pistol into his face.

"A sound and you die!" he hissed.

"Don't move!" came another whisper, and a second revolver touched
his ear.  The cook, perhaps, did not know their language, but he
certainly understood its meaning.  He trembled, and would have
fallen to the floor had not the strong hand of Lorry pinned him
to the wall.  The hand was on his throat, too.

"Chloroform him, Harry, and don't let him make a sound!"
whispered the owner of the hand.  Anguish's twitching fingers
succeeded those of his friend on the cook's throat, his pistol
was returned to his pocket, and the little bottle came again into
use.

"I'll go ahead.  Follow me as soon as you have finished this
fellow.  Be careful, and turn to the left when you come to the
top."

Lorry was off across the marble floor, headed for the stairway,
and Anguish was left in charge of the cook, of whom he was to
make short work.  Now came the desperate, uncertain part of the
transaction.  Suppose he were to meet the two conspirators at the
head of the stairs, or in the hall, or that the other traitor,
Dannox, should appear to frustrate all.  It was the most trying
moment in the whole life of the reckless Lorry.

When near the top of the steps he hugged the high balustrade and
cautiously peered ahead.  He found himself looking down a long
hall, at the far end of which, to his right, a dim light was
burning.  There was no sound and there was no sign of the two
men, either to the right or to the left.  His heart felt like
lead!  They evidently had entered the Princess's room!  How was
he to find that room?  Slowly he wriggled across the broad, dark
hall, straightening up in the shadow of a great post.  From this
point he edged along the wall for a distance of ten or twelve
feet to the left.  A sound came from farther down the hall, and
he imagined he heard some one approaching.

His hand came in contact with a heavy hanging or tapestry, and he
quickly squirmed behind its folds, finding himself against a door
which moved as his body touched it.  He felt it swing open
slightly and drew back, intending to return to the hall,
uncertain and very much undecided as to the course to pursue.
His revolver was in his hand.  Just as he was about to pull aside
the curtain a man glided past, quickly followed by another.
Providence had kept him from running squarely into them.  They
were going toward the left, and he realized that they were now
approaching the Princess's room.  How he came to be ahead of them
he could not imagine.  Strange trembling seized his legs, so
great was the relief after the narrow escape.  Again he felt the
door move slightly as he pressed against it.  The necessity for a
partial recovery of his composure before the next and most
important step, impelled him softly to enter the room for an
instant's breath.

Holding to the door he stood inside and drew himself to his full
height, taking a long and tremulous breath.  There was no light
in the room, but through the door crack to his left came a dim,
broad streak.  He now knew where he was.  This room was next to
that in which the Princess slept, for had he not seen the light
from her window?  Perhaps he was now in the room of the Countess
Dagniar.  Next door!  Next door!  Even now the daring Geddos and
Ostrom were crawling towards the bed of the ruler of Graustark,
not twenty feet away.  His first impulse was to cross and open
the door leading to the next room, surmising that it would be
unlocked, but he remembered Anguish, who was doubtless, by this
time, stealing up the stairs.  They must not be separated, for it
would require two steady, cool heads to deal with the villains.
It was not one man's work.  As he turned to leave the room he
thought how wonderfully well they had succeeded in the delicate
enterprise so far.

His knees struck the door, and there was a dull thump, not loud
in reality, but like the report of a gun to him.  A sudden rustle
in the darkness of the room and then a sleepy voice, soft and
quick, as of a woman awakening with a start.

"Who is it?"

His heart ceased beating, his body grew stiff and immovable.
Again the voice, a touch of alarm in it now:

"Is that you, Donnox?"

She spoke in German, and the voice came from somewhere in front
and to his right.  He could not answer, could not move.  The
paralysis of indecision was upon him.

"How is it that the outer door is open?"

This time there was something like a reprimand in the tones,
still low.  He almost could see the wide-open, searching eyes.



X

YETIVE


There could be no further hesitation.  Something must be done and
instantly.  He gently closed the door before answering the third
question.  In his nervousness he spoke in English, advancing to
the middle of the room.  Impossible to see the woman to whom he
hissed this alarming threat-he only could speculate as to its
effect:

"If you utter a sound, madam, I shall kill you.  Be calm, and
allow me to explain.  my presence here!"

He expected her to shriek, forgetting that she might not
understand his words.  Instead there was a deathly silence.  Had
she swooned?  His heart was leaping with hope.  But she spoke
softly again, tremulously, and in English:

"You will find my jewels on the dressing table.  Take them and go
You will not hurt me?"

"I am not here to do you injury, but to serve your Princess,
"whispered the man.  "For God's sake, do not make an outcry.  You
will ruin everything.  Will you let me explain?"

"Go!  Go!  Take anything!  I can be calm no longer.  Oh, how can
I expect mercy at your hands!"  Her tones were rising to a wail
of terror.

"Sh!  Do you want to die?" he hissed, striding to the canopy bed,
discernible as his eyes grew accustomed to the darkness.  "I
will kill you if you utter a sound, so help me God!"

"Oh!" she moaned.

"Listen!  You must aid me!  Do you hear?"

Another heart-breaking moan.  "I am here to save the Princess.
There is a plot to abduct her to-night.  Already there are men in
the castle, perhaps in her room.  You must tell me where she
sleeps.  There is no time to be lost.  I am no thief, before God!
I am telling you the truth.  Do not be alarmed, I implore you.
Trust me, madam, and you will not regret it.  Where does the
Princess sleep?"  He jerked out these eager, pleading words
quickly, breathlessly.

"How am I to trust you?" came back a whisper from the bed.

"Here is a revolver!  Take it and kill me if I attempt the
slightest injury.  Where are you?" He felt along the bed with his
hand.

"Keep away!  Please!  Please!" she sobbed.

"Take the pistol!  Be calm, and in heaven's name help me to save
her.  Those wretches may have killed her already!"

The revolver dropped upon the clothes.  He was bending eagerly
over, holding the curtains back.

"My friend is in the hall.  We have traced the men to the
Princess's door, I think.  My God, be quick!  Do you wish to see
her stolen from under your eyes?"

"You are now in the Princess's room," answered the voice from the
bed, calmer and with some alacrity.  "Is this true that you tell
me?"

"As God is my witness!  And you--you--are you the Princess?"
gasped the man, drawing back.

"I am.  Where is Dannox?"  She was sitting bolt upright in the
bed, the pistol in her trembling fingers.

"He is one of the conspirators.  One of the cooks and two other
guards are in the plot.  Can you trust me enough to leave your
bed and hide in another part of the room?  The scoundrels have
mistaken the door, but they may be here at any moment.  You must
be quick! I will protect you--I swear it!  Come, your Highness!
Hide!"

Something in the fierce, anxious whisper gave her confidence.
The miracle had been wrought!  He had composed this woman under
the most trying circumstances that could have teen imagined.  She
slipped from the bed and threw a long, loose silken gown about
her.

"Who are you?" she asked, touching his arm.

"I am a foreigner--an American--Grenfall Lorry!  Hurry!" he
implored.

She did not move for a moment, but he distinctly heard her catch
her breath.

"Am I dreaming?" she murmured, faintly.  Her fingers now clutched
his arm tightly.

"I should say not!  I don't like to order you around, your
Highness, but--"

"Come---come to the light!" she interrupted, excitedly.  "Over
here!"

Noiselessly she drew him across the room until the light fell
across his face.  It was not a bright light, but what she saw
satisfied her.  He could not see her face, for she stood outside
the strip of dusky yellow.

"Two men lie beneath your window, and two are coming to this
room.  Where shall I go?  Come, be quick, madam!  Do you want to
be carted off to Ganlook?  Then don't stand there like a--like a
--pardon me, I won't say it".

"I trust you fully.  Shall I alarm the guard?" she whispered,
recovering her self-possession.

"By no means.  I want to catch those devils myself.  Afterwards
we can alarm the guards!"

"An ideal American!" she surprised him by saying.  "Follow me!"

She led him to the doorway.  "Stand here, and I will call the
Countess.  At this side, where it is dark."

She opened the door gently and stood in the light for a second.
He saw before him a graceful figure in trailing white, and then
he saw her face.  She was Miss Guggenslocker!

"My God!" he hoarsely gasped, staggering toward her.  "You!  You!
The Princess?"

"Yes, I am the Princess," she whispered, smiling as she glided
away from his side.  His eyes went round in his head, his legs
seemed to be anywhere but beneath him, he felt as though he were
rushing toward the ceiling.  For the moment he was actually
unconscious.  Then his senses rushed back, recalling his mission
and his danger.

"She is sleeping so soundly that I fear to awaken her," whispered
a soft voice at his back, and he turned..  The Princess was
standing in the doorway.

"Then pray stand back where you will be out of danger.  They will
be here in a moment, unless they have been frightened away."

"You shall not expose yourself," she said, positively.  "Why
should you risk your life now?  You have accomplished your
object.  You have saved the Princess!"

"Ah--yes, the Princess!" he said.  "And I am sorry you are the
Princess," he added, in her ear.

"Sh!" she whispered, softly.

The door through which he had first come was softly opened, and
they were conscious that some one was entering.  Lorry and the
Princess stood in the dark shadow of a curtain, she close behind
his stalwart figure.  He could hear his own heart and hers
beating, could feel the warmth of her body, although it did not
touch his.  His heart beat with the pride of possession, of
power, with the knowledge that he had but to stretch out his hand
and touch the one woman in all the world.

Across the dim belt of light from the open doorway in which they
stood, crawled the dark figure of a man.  Her hand unconsciously
touched his back as if seeking reassurance.

He shivered beneath its gentle weight.  Another form followed the
first, pausing in the light to look toward their doorway.  The
abductor was doubtless remembering the instructions to chloroform
the Countess.  Then came the odor of chloroform.  Oh, if Anguish
were only there!

The second figure was lost in the darkness and a faint glow of
light came from the canopied bed in the corner The chloroformer
holding the curtains had turned his screen-lantern, toward the
pillow in order to apply the dampened cloth.  Now was the time to
act!

Pushing the Princess behind the curtain and in the shelter of the
door-post, Lorry leaped toward the center of the room, a pistol
in each hand.  Before him crouched the astonished desperadoes.

"If you move you are dead men!" said he, in slow decided tones.
"Here, Harry!" he shouted.  "Scoundrels, you are trapped!  Throw
up your hands!"

Suddenly the room was a blaze of light; flashing candles, lamps,
sprung into life from the walls, while a great chandelier above
his head dazzled him with its unexpected glare.

"Hell!" he shouted, half throwing his hands to his eyes.

Something rushed upon him from behind; there was a scream and
then a stinging blow across the head and neck.  As he sank
helplessly, angrily, to his knees he heard the Princess wail:

"Dannox!  Do not strike again!  You have killed him!"

As he rolled to the floor he saw the two forms near the bed
moving about like shadows: two red objects that resembled dancing
telegraph poles leaped past him from he knew not where, and then
there was a shout, the report of a pistol, a horrid yell.
Something heavy crashed down beside him and writhed.  His eyes
were closing, his senses were going, he was numb and sleepy.
Away off in the distance he heard Harry Anguish crying:

"That settles you, damn you!"

Some one lifted his head from the carpet and a woman's voice was
crying something unintelligible.  He was conscious of an effort
on his part to prevent the blood from streaming over her gown--a
last bit of gallantry.  The sound of rushing feet, shouts,
firearms--oblivion!

       .    .    .    .    .    .    .    .    .    .    .

When Lorry regained consciousness, he blinked in abject
amazement.  There was a dull, whirring sound in his ears, and his
eyes had a glaze over them that was slow in wearing off.  There
were persons in the room.  He could see them moving about and
could hear them talking.  As his eyes tried to take in the
strange surroundings, a hand was lifted from his forehead and a
soft, dream-like voice said:

"He is recovering, Mr. Anguish.  See, his eyes are open!  Do you
know me, Mr. Lorry?"

The unsteady eyes wandered until they fell upon the face near his
pillow.  A brighter gleam came into them, and there was a ray of
returning intelligence.  He tried to speak, but could only move
his lips.  As he remembered her, she was in white, and he was
puzzled now to see her in a garment of some dark material,
suggestive of the night or the green of a shady hillside.  There
was the odor of roses and violets and carnations.  Then he looked
for the fatal, fearful, glaring chandelier.  It was gone.  The
room was becoming lighter and lighter as his eyes grew stronger,
but it was through a window near where he lay.  So it was
daylight!  Where was he?

"How do you feel, old man?" asked a familiar voice.  A man sat
down beside him on the couch or bed, and a big hand grasped his
own.  Still he could not answer.

"Doctor," cried the voice near his head, "you really think it is
not serious?"

"I am quite sure," answered a man's voice from somewhere out in
the light.  "It is a bad cut, and he is just recovering from the
effect of the ether.  Had the blow not been a glancing one his
skull would have been crushed.  He will be perfectly conscious in
a short time.  There is no concussion, your Highness."

"I am so happy to hear you say that," said the soft voice.
Lorry's eyes sought hers and thanked her.  A lump came into his
throat as he looked up into the tender, anxious blue eyes.  A
thrill came over him.  Princess or not, he loved her--he loved
her!  "You were very brave--oh, so brave!" she whispered in his
ear, her hand touching his hair caressingly.  "My American!"

He tried to reach the hand before it faded, but he was too weak.
She glided away, and he closed his eyes again as if in pain.

"Look up, old man; you're all right," said Anguish.  "Smell this
handkerchief.  It will make you feel better."  A moist cloth was
held beneath his nose, and a strong, pungent odor darted through
his nostrils.  In a moment he tried to raise himself to his
elbow.  The world was clearing up.

"Lie still a bit, Lorry.  Don't be too hasty.  The doctor says
you must not."

"Where am I, Harry?" asked the wounded man, weakly.

"In the castle.  I'll tell you all about it presently."

"Am I in her room?"

"No, but she is in yours.  You are across the hall in"--here he
whispered--"Uncle Caspar's room.  Caspar is a Count."

"And she is the Princess--truly?"

"What luck!"

"What misery--what misery!" half moaned the other.

"Bosh!  Be a man!  Don't talk so loud, either!  There are a
half-dozen in the room."

Lorry remained perfectly quiet for ten minutes, his staring eyes
fixed on the ceiling.  He was thinking of the abyss he had
reached and could not cross.

"What time is it?" he asked at last, turning his eyes toward his
friend.

"It's just seven o'clock.  You have been unconscious or under the
influence of ether for over four hours.  That guard hit you a
fearful crack."

"I heard a shot--a lot of them.  Was any one killed?  Did those
fellows escape?"

"Killed!  There have been eight executions besides the one I
attended to.  Lord, they don't wait long here before handing out
justice."

"Tell me all that happened.  Was she hurt?"

"I should say not!  Say, Gren, I have killed a man.  Dannox got
my bullet right in the head and he never knew what hit him.
Ghastly, isn't it?  I feel beastly queer.  It was he who turned
on the lights and went at you with a club.  I heard you call, and
was in the door just as he hit you.  His finish came inside of a
second.  You and he spoiled the handsomest rug I ever saw."

"Ruined it?"

"Not in her estimation.  I'll wager she has it framed, blood and
all.  The stains will always be there as a reminder of your
bravery, and that's what she says she's bound to keep.  She was
very much excited and alarmed about you until the room filled
with men and then she remembered how she was attired.  I never
saw anything so pretty as her embarrassment when the Countess and
her aunt led her into the next room.  These people are going out,
so I'll tell you what happened after you left me with the cook.
He was a long time falling under the influence, and I had barely
reached the top of the stairs when I saw Dannox rush down the
hall.  Then you called, and I knew the jig was on in full blast.
The door was open, and I saw him strike you.  I shot him, but she
was at your side before I could get to you.  The other fellows
who were in the room succeeded in escaping while I was bending
over you, but neither of them shot at me.  They were too badly
frightened.  I had sense enough left to follow and shoot a couple
of times as they tore down the stairs.  One of them stumbled and
rolled all the way to the bottom.  He was unconscious and
bleeding when I reached his side.  The other fellow flew toward
the dining-hall, where he was nabbed by two white uniformed men
and throttled.  Other men in white--they were regular police
officers--pounced upon me, and I was a prisoner.  By George, I
was knocked off my feet the next minute to see old Dangloss
himself come puffing and blowing into the hall, redder and
fiercer than ever.  'Now I know what you want in Edelweiss!' he
shrieked, and it took me three minutes to convince him of his
error.  Then he and some of the men went up to the Princess'
room, while I quickly led the way to the big gate and directed a
half-dozen officers toward the ravine.  By this, time the grounds
were alive with guards.  They came up finally with the two
fellows who had been stationed beneath the window and who were
unable to find the gate.  When I got back to where you were the
room was full of terrified men and women, half dressed.  I was
still dazed over the sudden appearance of the police, but managed
to tell my story in full to Dangloss and Count Halfont--that's
Uncle Caspar--and then the chief told me how he and his men
happened to be there.  In the meantime, the castle physician was
attending to you.  Dannox had been carried away.  I never talked
to a more interested audience in my life!  There was the Princess
at my elbow and the Countess--pretty as a picture--back of her,
all eyes, both of 'em; and there was the old gray-haired lady,
the Countess Halfont, and a half-dozen shivering maids, with men
galore, Dangloss and the Count and a lot of servants,--a great
and increasing crowd.  The captain of the guards, a young fellow
named Quinnox, as I heard him called, came in, worried and
humiliated.  I fancy he was afraid he'd lose his job.  You see,
it was this way: Old Dangloss has had a man watching us all day.
Think of it!  Shadowing us like a couple of thieves.  This fellow
traced us to the castle gate and then ran back for
reinforcements, confident that we were there to rob.  In twenty
minutes he had a squad of officers at the gate, the chief
trailing along behind.  They found the pile of tools we had left
there, and later the other chap in the arbor.  A couple of guards
came charging up to learn the cause of the commotion, and the
whole crew sailed into the castle, arriving just in time.  Well,
just as soon as I had told them the full story of the plot, old
Caspar, the chief and the captain held a short consultation, the
result of which I can tell in mighty few words.  At six o'clock
they took the whole gang of prisoners down in the ravine and shot
them.  The mounted guards are still looking for the two Viennese
who were left with the carriage.  They escaped.  About an hour
after you were hurt you were carried over here and laid on this
couch.  I want to tell you, Mr. Lorry, you are the most
interesting object that ever found its way into a royal
household.  They have been hanging over you as if you were a
new-born baby, and everybody's charmed because you are a boy
and are going to live.  As an adventure this has been a
record-breaker, my son!  We are cocks of the walk!"

Lorry was smiling faintly over his enthusiasm.

"You are the real hero, Harry, You saved my life and probably
hers.  I'll not allow you or anybody to give me the glory," he
said.  pressing the other's hand.

"Oh, that's nonsense!  Anybody could have rushed in as I did.  I
was only capping the climax you had prepared--merely a timely
arrival, as the novels say.  There is a little of the credit due
me, of course, and I'll take it gracefully, but I only come in as
an accessory, a sort of bushwhacker who had only to do the shoot,
slap-bang work and close the act.  You did the hero's work.  But
what do you think of the way they hand out justice over here?
All but two of 'em dead!"

"Whose plan was it to kill those men?" cried Lorry, suddenly
sitting upright.

"Everybody's, I fancy.  They didn't consult me, though, come to
think of it.  Ah, here is Her Royal Highness!"

The Princess and Aunt Yvonne were at his side again, while Count
Caspar was coming rapidly toward them.

"You must not sit up, Mr. Lorry," began the Princess, but he was
crying:

"Did they make a confession, Harry?"

"I don't know.  Did they, Unc--Count Halfont?  Did they confess?
Great heavens, I never thought of that before."

"What was there to confess?" asked the Count, taking Lorry's hand
kindly.  "They were caught in the act.  My dear sir, they were
not even tried."

"I thought your police chief was such a shrewd man," cried Lorry,
angrily.

"What's that?" asked a gruff voice, and Baron Dangloss was a
member of the party, red and panting.

"Don't you know you should not have killed those men?" demanded
Lorry.  They surveyed him in amazement, except Anguish, who had
buried his face in his hands dejectedly.

"And, sir, I'd like to know why not?" blustered Dangloss.

"And, sir, I'd like to know, since you have shot the only beings
on earth who knew the man that hired them, how in the name of
your alleged justice you are going to apprehend him?" said Lorry,
sinking back to his pillow, exhausted.

No reserve could hide the consternation, embarrassment and shame
that overwhelmed a very worthy but very impetuous nobleman, Baron
Jasto Dangloss, chief of police in Edelweiss.  He could only sputter
his excuses and withdraw, swearing to catch the arch-conspirator or
to die in the attempt.  Not a soul in the castle, not a being in all
Graustark could offer the faintest clew to the identity of the man or
explain his motive.  No one knew a Michael, who might have been
inadvertently addressed as "your" possible "Highness."  The greatest
wonder reigned; vexation, uneasiness and perplexity existed
everywhere.

Standing there with her head on her aunt's shoulder, her face
grave and troubled, the Princess asked:

"Why should they seek to abduct me?  Was it to imprison or to
kill me?  Oh, Aunt Yvonne, have I not been good to my people?
God knows I have done all that I can.  I could have done no more.
Is it a conspiracy to force me from the throne?  Who can be so
cruel?"

And no one could answer.  They could simply offer words of
comfort and promises of protection.  Later in the day gruff
Dangloss marched in and apologized to the Americans for his
suspicions concerning them, imploring their assistance in running
down the chief villain.  And as the hours went by Count Halfont
font came in and, sitting beside Grenfall, begged his pardon and
asked him to forget the deception that had been practiced in the
United States.  He explained the necessity for traveling
incognito at that time.  After which the Count entered a plea for
Her Royal Highness, who had expressed contrition and wished to be
absolved.




XI

LOVE IN A CASTLE


As the day wore on Lorry grew irritable and restless.  He could
not bring himself into full touch with the situation,
notwithstanding Harry's frequent and graphic recollections of
incidents that had occurred and that had led to their present
condition.  Their luncheon was served in the Count's room, as it
was inadvisable for the injured man to go to the dining-hall
until he was stronger.  The court physician assured him that he
would be incapacitated for several days, but that in a very short
time his wound would lose the power to annoy him in the least.
The Count and Countess Halfont, Anguish and others came to cheer
him and to make his surroundings endurable.  Still he was
dissatisfied, even unhappy.

The cause of his uneasiness and depression was revealed only by
the manner in which it was removed.  He was lying stretched out
on the couch, staring from the window, his head aching; his heart
full of a longing that knows but one solace.  Anguish had gone
out in the
grounds after assuring himself that his charge was asleep, so
there was no one in the room when he awakened from a sickening
dream to shudder alone over its memory.  A cool breeze from an
open window fanned his head kindly; a bright sun gleamed across
the trees, turning them into gold and purple and red and green; a
quiet repose was in all that touched him outwardly; inwardly
there was burning turmoil.  He turned on his side and curiously
felt the bandages about his head.  They were tight and smooth,
and he knew they were perfectly white.  How lonely those bandages
made him feel, away off there in Graustark!

The door to his room opened softly, but he did not turn, thinking
it was Anguish--always Anguish--and not the one he most desired
to--

"Her Royal Highness," announced a maid, and then--

"May I come in?" asked a voice that went to his troubled soul
like a cooling draught to the fevered throat.  He turned toward
her instantly, all the irritation, all the uneasiness, all the
loneliness vanishing like mist before the sun.  Behind her was a
lady-in-waiting.

"I cannot deny the request of a princess," he responded, smiling
gaily.  He held forth his hand toward her, half fearing she would
not take it.

The Princess Yetive came straight to his couch and laid her hand
in his.  He drew it to his lips and then released it lingeringly.
She stood before him, looking down with an anxiety in her eyes
that would have repaid him had death been there to claim his next
breath.

"Are you better?" she asked, with her pretty accent.  "I have
been so troubled about you."

"I thought you had forgotten me," he said, with childish
petulance.

"Forgotten you!" she cried, quick to resent the imputation.  "Let
me tell you, then, what I have been doing while forgetting.  I
have sent to the Regengetz for your luggage and your friend's.
You will find it much more comfortable here.  You are to make
this house your home as long as you are in Edelweiss.  That is
how I have been forgetting."

"Forgive me!" he cried, his eyes gleaming.  "I have been so
lonely that I imagined all sorts of things.  But, your Highness,
you must not expect us to remain here after I am able to leave.
That would be imposing--"

"I will not allow you to say it!" she objected, decisively.  "You
are the guest of honor in Graustark.  Have you not preserved its
ruler?  Was it an imposition to risk your life to save one in
whom you had but passing interest, even though she were a poor
princess?  No, my American, this castle is yours, in all
rejoicing, for had you not come within its doors to-day would
have found it in mournful terror.  Besides, Mr. Anguish has said
he will stay a year if we insist."

"That's like Harry," laughed Lorry.  "But I am afraid you are
glorifying two rattlebrained chaps who should be in a home for
imbeciles instead of in the castle their audacity might have
blighted.  Our rashness was only surpassed by our phenomenal good
luck.  By chance it turned out well; there were ten thousand
chances of ignominious failure.  Had we failed would we have been
guests of honor?  No!  We would have been stoned from Graustark.
You don't know how thin the thread was that held your fate.  It
makes me shudder to think of the crime our act might have been.
Ah, had I but known you were the Princess, no chances should have
been taken," he said, fervently.

"And a romance spoiled," she laughed.

"So you are a princess,--a real princess," he went on, as if he
had not heard her.  "I knew it.  Something told me you were not
an ordinary woman."

"Oh, but I am a very ordinary woman," she remonstrated.  "You do
not know how easy it is to be a princess and a mere woman at the
same time.  I have a heart, a head.  I breathe and eat and drink
and sleep and love.  Is it not that way with other women?"

"You breathe and eat and drink and sleep and love in a different
world, though, your Highness."

"Ach!  my little maid, Therese, sleeps as soundly, eats as
heartily and loves as warmly as I, so a fig for your argument."

"You may breathe the same air, but would you love the same man
that your maid might love?"

"Is a man the only excuse for love?   she asked.  "If so, then I
must say that I breathe and eat and drink and sleep--and that is
all."

"Pardon me, but some day you will find that love is a man, and"
--here he laughed--"you will neither breathe, nor eat, nor sleep
except with him in your heart.  Even a princess is mot proof
against a man."

"Is a man proof against a princess?'  she asked, as she leaned
against the casement.

"It depends on the"--he paused "the princess, I should say."

"Alas!  There is one more fresh responsibility acquired.  It
seems to me that everything depends on the princess," she said,
merrily.

"Not entirely," he said, quickly.  "A great deal--a very great
deal--depends on circumstances.  For instance, when you were Miss
Guggenslocker it wouldn't have been necessary for the man to be a
prince, you know."

"But I was Miss Guggenslocker because a man was unnecessary," she
said, so gravely that he smiled.  "I was without a title because
it was more womanly than to be a 'freak,' as I should have been
had every man, woman and child looked upon me as a princess.  I
did not travel through your land for the purpose of exhibiting
myself, but to learn and unlearn."

"I remember it cost you a certain coin to learn one thing," he
observed.

"It was money well spent, as subsequent events have proved.  I
shall never regret the spending of that half gavvo.  Was it not
the means of bringing you to Edelweiss?"

"Well, it was largely responsible, but I am inclined to believe
that a certain desire on my part would have found a way without
the assistance of the coin.  You don't know how persistent an
American can be."

"Would you have persisted had you known I was a princess?" she
asked.

"Well, I can hardly tell about that, but you must remember I
didn't know who or what you were."

"Would you have come to Graustark had you known I was its
princess?"

"I'll admit I came because you were Miss Guggenslocker."

"A mere woman."

"I will not consent to the word 'mere.'  What would you think of
a man who came half-way across the earth for the sake of a mere
woman?"

"I should say he had a great deal of curiosity," she responded,
coolly.

"And not much sense.  There is but one woman a man would do so
much for, and she could not be a mere woman in his eyes."
Lorry's face was white and his eyes gleamed as he hurled this
bold conclusion at her.

"Especially when he learns that she is a princess!" said she, her
voice so cold and repellent that his eyes closed, involuntarily,
as if an unexpected horror had come before them.  "You must not
tell me that you came to see me.

"But I did come to see you and not Her Royal Highness the
Princess Yetive of Graustark stark.  How was I to know?" he
cried impulsively.

"But you are no longer ignorant," she said, looking from the
window.

"I thought you said you were a mere woman!"

"I am--and that is the trouble!" she said, slowly turning her
eyes back to him.  Then she abruptly sank to the window seat near
his head.  "That is the trouble, I say.  A woman is a woman,
although she be a princess.  Don't you understand why you must
not say such things to me?"

"Because you are a princess," he said, bitterly.

"No; because I am a woman.  As a woman I want to hear them, as, a
princess I cannot.  Now, have I made you understand?  Have I been
bold enough?"  Her face was burning.

"You--you don't mean that you--" he half whispered, drawing
himself toward her, his face glowing.

"Ach!  What have I said?"

"You have said enough to drive me mad with desire for more," he
cried, seizing her hand, which she withdrew instantly, rising to
her feet.

"I have only said that I wanted to hear you say you had come to
see me.  Is not that something for a woman's vanity to value?  I
am sorry you have presumed to misunderstand me."  She was cold
again, but he was not to be baffled.

"Then be a woman and forget that you are a princess until I tell
you why I came," he cried.

"I cannot!  I mean, I will not listen to you," she said, glancing
about helplessly, yet standing still within the danger circle.

"I came because I have thought of you and dreamed of you since
the day you sailed from New York.  God, can I ever forget that
day!"

"Please do not recall--" she began, blushing and turning to the
window.

"The kiss you threw to me?  Were you a princess then?"  She did
not answer, and he paused for a moment, a thought striking him
which at first he did not dare to voice.  Then he blurted it out.
"If you do not want to hear me say these things, why do you stand
there?"

"Oh," she faltered.

"Don't leave me now.  I want to say what I came over here to say,
and then you can go back to your throne and your royal reserve,
and I can go back to the land from which you drew me.  I came
because I love you.  Is not that enough to drag a man to the end
of the world?  I came to marry you if I could, for you were Miss
Guggenslocker to me.  Then you were within my reach, but not now!
I can only love a princess!"  He stopped because she had dropped
to the couch beside him, her serious face turned appealingly to
his, her fingers clasping his hands fiercely.

"I forbid you to continue--I forbid you!  Do you hear?  I, too,
have thought and dreamed of you, and I have prayed that you might
come.  But you must not tell me that you love me-you shall not!"

"I only want to know that you love me," he whispered.

"Do you think I can tell you the truth?" she cried.  "I do not
love you!"

Before he had fairly grasped the importance of the contradictory
sentences, she left his side and stood in the window, her breast
heaving and her face flaming.

"Then I am to believe you do," he groaned, after a moment.  "I
find a princes and lose a woman!"

"I did not intend that you should have said what you have, or
that I should have told you what I have.  I knew you loved me or
you would not have come to me," she said, softly.

"You would have been selfish enough to enjoy that knowledge
without giving joy in return.  I see.  What else could you have
done?  A princess!  Oh, I would to God you were Miss
Guggenslocker, the woman I sought!"

"Amen to that!" she said.  "Can I trust you never to renew this
subject?  We have each learned what had better been left unknown.
You understand my position.  Surely you will be good enough to
look upon me ever afterward as a princess and forget that I have
been a woman unwittingly.  I ask you, for your sake and my own,
to refrain from a renewal of this unhappy subject.  You can see
how hopeless it is for both of us.  I have said much to you that
I trust you will cherish as coming from a woman who could not
have helped herself and who has given to you the power to undo
her with a single word.  I know you will always be the brave,
true man my heart has told me you are.  You will let the
beginning be the end?"

The appeal was so earnest, so noble that honor swelled in his
heart and came from his lips in this promise:

"You may trust me, your Highness.  Your secret is worth a
thousand-fold more than mine.  It is sacred with me.  The joy of
my life has ended, but the happiness of knowing the truth will
never die.  I shall remember that you love me--yes, I know you
do,--and I shall never forget to love you.  I will not promise
that I shall never speak of it again to you.  As I lie here,
there comes to me a courage I did not know I could feel."

"No, no!" she cried, vehemently.

"Forgive me!  You can at least let me say that as long as I live
I may cherish and encourage the little hope that all is not dead.
Your Highness, let me say that my family never knows when it is
defeated, either in love or in war."

"The walls which surround the heart of a princess are black and
grim, impenetrable when she defends it, my boasting American,"
she said, smiling sadly.

"Yet some prince of the realm will batter down the wall and win
at a single blow that which a mere man could not conquer in ten
lifetimes.  Such is the world."

"The prince may batter down and seize, but he can never conquer.
But enough of this!  I am the Princess of Graustark; you are my
friend, Grenfall Lorry, and there is only a dear friendship
between us," she cried, resuming her merry humor so easily that
he started with surprise and not a little displeasure.

"And a throne," he added, smiling, how ever.

"And a promise," she reminded him.

"From which I trust I may some day be released," said he, sinking
back, afflicted with a discouragement and a determination of
equal power.  He could see hope and hopelessness ahead.

"By death!"

"No; by life!  It may be sooner than you think!"

"You are forgetting your promise already."

"Your Highness's pardon," he begged.

They laughed, but their hearts were sad, this luckless American
and hapless sovereign who would, if she could, be a woman.

"It is now three o'clock--the hour when you were to have called
to see me," she said, again sitting unconcernedly before him in
the window seat.  She was not afraid of him.  She was a princess.

"I misunderstood you, your highness.  I remembered the
engagement, but it seems I was mistaken as to the time.  I came
at three in the morning!"

"And found me at home!"

"In an impregnable castle, with ogres all about."





XII

A WAR AND ITS CONSEQUENCES


Lorry was removed to another room before dinner, as she had
promised.

After they had dined the two strangers were left alone for
several hours.  Anguish regaled his friend with an enthusiastic
dissertation on the charms of the Countess Dagmar,
lady-in-waiting to the Princess.  In conclusion he said glowingly,
his cigar having been out for half an hour or more because his
energy had been spent in another direction.

"You haven't seen much of her, Lorry, but I tell you she is rare.
And she's not betrothed to any of these confounded counts or
dukes either.  They all adore her but she's not committed."

"How do you know all this?" demanded Lorry, who but half heard
through his dreams.

"Asked her, of course.  How in thunder do you suppose?"

"And you've known her but a day?  Well, you are progressive."

"Oh, perfectly natural conversation, you know," explained
Anguish, composedly.  "She began it by asking me if I were
married, and I said I wasn't even engaged.  Then I asked her if
she were married.  You see, from the title, you can't tell
whether a countess is married or single.  She said she wasn't,
and I promptly and very properly expressed my amazement.  By
Jove, she has a will and a mind of her own, that young woman has.
She's not going to marry until she finds a man of the right sort
--which is refreshing.  I like to hear a girl talk like that,
especially a pretty girl who can deal in princes, counts and all
kinds of nobility when it comes to a matrimonial trade.  By Jove,
I'm sorry for the Princess, though."

"Sorry for the Princess?  Why?" asked the other, alert at once.

"Oh, just because it's not in her power to be so independent.
The Countess says she cries every night when she thinks of what
the
poor girl has to contend with."

"Tell me about it."

"I don't know anything to tell.  I'm not interested in the
Princess, and I didn't have the nerve to ask many questions.  I
do know, however, that she is going to have an unpleasant
matrimonial alliance forced upon her in some way."
"That is usual.

"That's what I gather from the Countess.  Maybe you can pump the
Countess and get all you want to know in connection with the
matter.  It's a pretty serious state of affairs, I should say, or
she wouldn't be weeping through sympathy."

Lorry recalled a part of the afternoon's sweetly dangerous
conversation and the perspiration stood cold and damp on his
brow.

"Well, old man, you've chased Miss Guggenslocker to earth only to
find her an impossibility.  Pretty hopeless for you, Lorry, but
don't let it break you up completely.  We can go back home after
a while and you will forget her.  A countess, of course, is
different."

"Harry, I know it is downright madness for me to act like this,"
said Lorry, his jaws set and his hands clenched as he raised
himself to his elbow.  "You don't know how much I love her."

"Your nerve is to be admired, but--well, I'm sorry for you."

"Thanks for your sympathy.  I suppose I'll need it," and he sank
back gloomily.  Anguish was right--absurdly right.

There was a rap at the door and Anguish hastened to open it.  A
servant presented Count Halfort's compliments and begged leave to
call.

"Shall we see the old boy?" asked Harry.

"Yes, yes," responded the other.  The servant understood the sign
made by Anguish and disappeared.  "Diplomatic call, I suspect."

"He is the prime minister, I understand.  Well, we'll diplome
with him until bed-time, if he cares to stay.  I'm getting rather
accustomed to the nobility.  They are not so bad, after all.
Friendly and all that--Ah, good evening, your excellency!  We are
honored."

The Count had entered the room and was advancing toward the
couch, tall, easy and the personification of cordiality.

"I could not retire until I had satisfied myself as to Mr.
Lorry's condition and his comfort," said he, in his broken
English.  He seated himself near the couch and bent sharp,
anxious eyes on the recumbent figure.

"Oh, he's all right," volunteered Anguish, readily.  "Be able to
go into battle again tomorrow."

"That is the way with you aggressive Americans.  I am told.  They
never give up until they are dead," said the Count, courteously.
"Your head is better?"

"It does not pain me as it did, and I'm sure I'll be able to get
out to-morrow.  Thank you very much for your interest," said
Lorry.  "May I inquire after the health of the Countess Halfont?
The excitement of last night has not had an unpleasant effect, I
hope."

"She is with the Princess, and both are quite well.  Since our
war, gentlemen, Graustark women have nothing to acquire in the
way of courage and endurance.  You, of course, know nothing of
the horrors of that war."

"But we would be thankful for the story of it, your excellency.
War is a hobby of mine.  I read every war scare that gets into
print," said Anguish, eagerly.

"We, of Graustark, at present have every reason to recall the
last war and bitterly to lament its ending.  The war occurred
just fifteen years ago--but will the recital tire you, Mr. Lorry?
I came to spend a few moments socially and not to go into
history.  At any other time I shall be--"

"It will please and not tire me.  I am deeply interested.  Pray
go on," Lorry hastened to say, for he was interested more than
the Count suspected.

"Fifteen years ago Prince Ganlook, of this principality,--the
father of our princess,--became incensed over the depredations of
the Axphain soldiers who patrolled our border on the north.  He
demanded restitution for the devastation they had created, but
was refused.  Graustark is a province comprising some eight
hundred square miles of the best land in this part of the world.
Our neighbor is smaller in area and population.  Our army was
better equipped but not so hardy.  For several months the
fighting in the north was in our favor, but the result was that
our forces were finally driven back to Edelweiss, hacked and
battered by the fierce thousands that came over the border.  The
nation was staggered by the shock, for such an outcome had not
been considered possible.  We had been too confident.  Our
soldiers were sick and worn by six months of hard fighting, and
the men of Edelweiss--the merchants, the laborers and the
nobility itself--flew to arms in defense of the city.  For over a
month we fought, hundreds of our best and bravest citizens going
down to death.  They at last began a bombardment of the city.
To-day you can see they marks on nearly every house in Edelweiss.
Hundreds of graves in the valley to the south attest the terrors
of that siege.  The castle was stormed, and Prince Ganlook, with
many of the chief men of the land, met death.  The prince was
killed in front of the castle gates, from which he had sallied in
a last, brave attempt to beat off the conquerors.  A bronze
statue now marks the spot on which he fell.  The Princess, his
wife, was my sister, and as I held the portfolio of finance, it
was through me that the city surrendered, bringing the siege to
an end.  Fifteen years ago this autumn--the twentieth of
November, to be explicit--the treaty of peace was signed in
Sofia.  We were compelled to cede a portion of territory in the
far northeast, valuable for its mines.  Indemnity was agreed upon
by the peace commissioners, amounting to 20,000,000 gavvos, or
nearly $30,000,000 in your money.  In fifteen years this money
was to be paid, with interest.  On the twentieth of November,
this year, the people of Graustark must pay 25,000,000 gavvos.
The time is at hand, and that is why we recall the war so
vividly.  It means the bankruptcy of the nation, gentlemen."

Neither of his listeners spoke for some moments.  Then Lorry
broke the silence.

"You mean that the money cannot be raised?" he asked.

"It is not in our treasury.  Our people have been taxed so sorely
in rebuilding their homes and in recuperating from the effect of
that dreadful invasion that they have been unable to pay the
levies.  You must remember that we are a small nation and of
limited resources.  Your nation could secure $30,000,000 in one
hour for the mere asking.  To us it is like a death blow.  I am
not betraying a state secret in telling you of the sore straits
in which we are placed, for every man in the nation has been made
cognizant of the true conditions.  We are all facing it
together."
There was something so quietly heroic in his manner that both men
felt pity.  Anguish, looking at the military figure, asked:
"You fought through the war, your excellency?"

"I resigned as minister, sir, to go to the front.  I was in the
first battle and I was in the last," he said, simply.

"And the Princess,--the present ruler, I mean,--was a mere child
at that time.  When did she succeed to the throne?" asked Lorry.

"Oh, the great world does not remember our little history!
Within a year after the death of Prince Ganlook, his wife, my
sister, passed away, dying of a broken heart.  Her daughter,
their only child, was, according to our custom, crowned at once.
She has reigned for fourteen years, and wisely since assuming
full power.  For three years she has been ruler de facto.  She
has been frugal, and has done all in her power to meet the shadow
that is descending."

"And what is the alternative in case the indemnity is not paid?"
asked Lorry, breathlessly, for he saw something bright in the
approaching calamity.

"The cession of all that part of Graustark lying north of
Edelweiss, including fourteen towns, all of our mines and our
most productive farming and grazing lands.  In that event
Graustark will be no larger than one of the good-sized farms in
your western country.  There will be nothing left for Her Royal
Highness to rule save a tract so small that the word principality
will be a travesty and a jest.  This city and twenty-five miles
to the south, a strip about one hundred fifty miles long.  Think
of it!  Twenty-five by one hundred fifty miles, and yet called a
principality!  Once the proudest and most prosperous state in the
east, considering its size, reduced to that!  Ach, gentlemen
--gentlemen!  I cannot think of it without tearing out a
heart-string and suffering such pains as mortal man has never
endured.  I lived in Graustark's days of wealth, power and
supremacy; God has condemned me to live in the days of her
dependency, weakness and poverty.  Let us talk no more of this
unpleasant subject."

His hearers pitied the frank, proud old man from the bottoms of
their hearts.  He had told them the story with the candor and
simplicity of a child, admitting weakness and despondency.  Still
he sat erect and defiant, his face white and drawn, his figure
suggesting the famous picture of the stag at bay.

"Willingly, your excellency, since it is distasteful to you.  I
hope, however, you will permit me to ask how much you are short
of the amount," said Lorry, considerately yet curiously.

"Our minister of finance, Gaspon, will be able to produce fifteen
million gavvos at the stated time--far from enough.  This amount
has been sucked from the people from excessive levy, and has been
hoarded for the dreaded day.  Try as we would, it has been
impossible to raise the full amount.  The people have been bled
and have responded nobly, sacrificing everything to meet the
treaty terms honorably, but the strain has been too great.  Our
army has cost us large sums.  We have strengthened our defenses,
and could, should we go to war, defeat Axphain.  But we have our
treaty to honor; we could not take up arms to save ourselves from
that honest bond.  Our levies have barely brought the amount
necessary to, maintain an army large enough to inspire respect
among those who are ready to leap upon us the instant we show the
least sign of distress.  There are about us powers that have held
aloof from war with us simply because we have awed them with our
show of force.  It has been our safeguard, and there is not a
citizen of Graustark who objects to the manner in which state
affairs are conducted.  They know that our army is an economy at
any price.  Until last spring we were confident that we could
raise the full amount due Axphain, but the people in the rural
districts were unable to meet the levies on account of the panic
that came at a most unfortunate time.  That is why we were
hurrying home from your country, Mr. Lorry.  Gaspon had cabled
the Princess that affairs were in a hopeless condition, begging
her to come home and do what she could in a final appeal to the
people, knowing the love they had for her.  She came, and has
seen these loyal subjects offer their lives for her and for
Graustark, but utterly unable to give what they have not--money.
She asked them if she should disband the army, and there was a
negative wail from one end of the land to the other.  Then the
army agreed to serve on half pay until all was tided over.
Public officers are giving their services free, and many of our
wealthy people have advanced loans on bonds, worthless as they
may seem, and still we have not the required amount."

"Cannot the loan be extended a few years?" asked Lorry, angry
with the ruler in the north, taking the woes of Graustark as much
to heart as if they were his own.

"Not one day!  Not in London, Paris, nor Berlin."

Lorry lay back and allowed Anguish to lead the conversation into
other channels.  The Count remained for half an hour, saying as
he left that the Princess and his wife had expressed a desire to
be remembered to their guests.

"Her Royal Highness spent the evening with the ministers of
finance and war, and her poor head, I doubt not, is racking from
the effects of the consultation.  These are weighty matters for a
girl to have on her hands," solemnly stated the Count, pausing
for an instant at the door of the apartment.

After he had closed it the Americans looked long and thoughtfully
at each other, each feeling a respect for the grim old gentleman
that they had never felt for man before.

"So they are in a devil of a shape," mused Anguish.  "I tell you,
Gren, I never knew anything that made me feel so badly as does
the trouble that hangs over that girl and her people.  A week ago
I wouldn't have cared a rap for Graustark, but to-night I feel
like weeping for her."

"There seems to be no help for her, either," said Lorry,
reflectively.

"Graustark, you mean?"

"No--I mean yes, of course,--who else?" demanded the other, who
certainly had not meant Graustark.

"I believe, confound your selfish soul.  you'd like to see the
nation, the crown and everything else taken away from this
helpless, harrassed child.  Then you'd have a chance," exclaimed
Anguish, pacing the floor, half angrily, half encouragingly.

"Don't say that, Harry, don't say that.  Don't accuse me of it,
for I'll confess I had in my heart that meanest of longings--the
selfish, base, heartless hope that you have guessed.  It hurts me
to be accused of it though, so don't do it again, old man.  I'll
put away the miserable hope, if I can, and I'll pray God that she
may find a way out of the difficulty."

They went to sleep that night, Anguish at once, Lorry not for
hours, harboring a determination to learn more about the
condition of affairs touching the people of Graustark and the
heart of their Princess.




XIII

UNDER MOON AND MONASTERY


For two days Lorry lived through intermittent stages of delight
and despondency.  His recovery from the effects of the blow
administered by Dannox was naturally rapid, his strong young
constitution coming to the rescue bravely.  He saw much of the
Princess, more of the Countess Dagmar, and made the acquaintance
of many lords and ladies for whom he cared but little except when
they chose to talk of their girlish ruler.  The atmosphere of the
castle was laden with a depression that could not be overcome by
an assimilated gaiety.  There was the presence of a shadow that
grew darker and nearer as the days went by, and there were
anxious hearts under the brave, proud spirits of those who held
the destiny of Graustark in their hands.

The princess could not bide the trouble that had sprung up in her
eyes.  Her laugh, her gay conversation, her rare composure and
gentle hauteur were powerless to drive away the haunted, worried
gleam in those expressive eyes of blue.  Lorry had it on his
tongue's end a dozen times during the next day or so after the
count's narrative to question her about the condition of affairs
as they appeared to her.  He wondered whether she, little more
than a girl, could see and understand the enormity of the
situation that confronted her and her people.  A strange, tender
fear prevented him from speaking to her of the thing which was
oppressing her life.  Not that he expected a rebuff from her, but
that he could not endure the thought of hearing her brave, calm
recital of the merciless story.  He knew that she could narrate
it all to him more plainly than had her uncle.  Something told
him that she was fully aware of the real and underlying
conditions.  He could see, in his imagination, the proud,
resigned face and manner of this perplexed Princess, as she would
have talked to him of her woes, and he could also picture the
telltale eyes and the troubled expression that would not be
disguised.

The Countess Dagmar, when not monopolized by the very
progressive, or aggressive Anguish, unfolded to Lorry certain
pages in the personal history of the Princess, and he, of course,
encouraged her confidential humor, although there was nothing
encouraging in it for him.

Down by the great fountain, while the soldiers were on parade,
the fair but volatile Countess unfolded to Lorry a story that
wrenched his heart so savagely that anger, resentment,
helplessness and love oozed forth and enveloped him in a
multitude of emotions that would not disperse.  To have gone to
the Princess and laid down his life to save her would have given
him pleasure, but he had promised something to her that could not
be forgotten in a day.  In his swelling heart he prayed for the
time to come when he could take her in his arms, cancel his
promise and defy the troubles that opposed her.

"She will not mind my telling you, because she considers you the
very best of men, Mr. Lorry," said the Countess, who had learned
her English under the Princess Yetive's tutor.  The demure,
sympathetic little Countess, her face glowing with excitement and
indignation, could not resist the desire to pour into the ears of
this strong and resourceful man the secrets of the Princess, as
if trusting to him, the child of a powerful race, to provide
relief.  It was the old story of the weak appealing to the
strong.

It seems, according to the very truthful account given by the
lady, that the Princess had it in her power to save Graustark
from disgrace and practical destruction.  The Prince of Axphain's
son, Lorenz, was deeply enamoured of her, infatuated by her
marvelous beauty and accomplishments.  He had persuaded his
father to consider a matrimonial alliance with her to be one of
great value to Axphain.  The old prince, therefore, some months
before the arrival of the Americans in Graustark, sent to the
Princess a substitute ultimatum, couched in terms so polite and
conciliatory that there could be no mistaking his sincerity.  He
agreed to give Graustark a new lease of life, as it were, by
extending the fifteen years, or, in other words, to grant the
conquered an additional ten years in which to pay off the
obligations imposed by the treaty.  He furthermore offered a
considerable reduction in the rate of interest for the next ten
years.  But he had a condition attached to this good and gracious
proposition; the marriage of Graustark's sovereign.  His
ambassador set forth the advantages of such an alliance, and
departed with a message that the matter should have most serious
consideration.

The old Prince's proposition was a blow to the Princess, who was
placed in a trying position.  By sacrificing herself she could
save her country, but in so doing her life was to be plunged into
interminable darkness.  She did not love, nor did she respect
Lorenz, who was not favorably supplied with civilized
intelligence.  The proposition was laid before the cabinet and
the nobility by the Princess herself, who said that she would be
guided by any decision they might reach.  The counsellors, to a
man, refused to sacrifice their girlish ruler, and the people
vociferously ratified the resolution.  But the Princess would not
allow them to send an answer to Axphain until she could see a way
clear to save her people in some other manner.  An embassy was
sent to the Prince of Dawsbergen.  His domain touched Graustark
on the south, and he ruled a wild, turbulent class of
mountaineers and herdsmen.  This embassy sought to secure an
endorsement of the loan from Prince Gabriel sufficient to meet
the coming crisis.  Gabriel, himself smitten by the charms of the
Princess, at once offered himself in marriage, agreeing to
advance, in case she accepted him, twenty million gavvos, at a
rather high rate of interest, for fifteen years.  His love for
her was so great that he would pawn the entire principality for
an answer that would make him the happiest man on earth.  Now,
the troubled Princess abhorred Gabriel.  Of the two, Lorenz was
much to be preferred.  Gabriel flew into a rage upon the receipt
of this rebuff, and openly avowed his intention to make her
suffer.  His infatuation became a mania, and, up to the very day
on which the Countess told the story, he persisted in his appeals
to the Princess.  In person he had gone to her to plead his suit,
on his knees, grovelling at her feet.  He went so far as to
exclaim madly in the presence of the alarmed but relentless
object of his love that he would win her or turn the whole earth
into everything unpleasant.

So it was that the Princess of Graustark, erstwhile Miss
Guggenslocker, was being dragged through the most unhappy affairs
that ever beset a sovereign.  Within a month she was to sign away
two-thirds of her domain, transforming multitudes of her beloved
and loving people into subjects of the hated Axphain, or to sell
herself, body and soul, to a loathsome bidder in the guise of a
suitor.  And, with all this confronting her, she had come to the
realization of a truth so sad and distracting; that it was
breaking her tortured heart.  She was in love--but with no royal
prince!  Of this, however, the Countess knew nothing, so Lorry
had one great secret to cherish alone.

"Has she chosen the course she will pursue?" asked Lorry, as the
Countess concluded her story.  Isis face was turned away.

"She cannot decide.  We have wept together over this dreadful,
this horrible thing.  You do not know what it means to all of us,
Mr. Lorry.  We love her, and there is not one in our land who
would sacrifice her to save this territory.  As for Gabriel,
Graustark would kill her before she should go to him.  Still she
cannot let herself sacrifice those northern subjects when by a
single act she can save them.  You see, the Princess has not
forgotten that her father brought this war upon the people, and
she feels it her duty to pay the penalty of his error, whatever
the cost."

"Is there no other to whom she can turnno other course?" asked
Lorry.

"There is none who would assist us, bankrupt as we are.  There is
a question I want to ask, Mr. Lorry.  Please look at me--do not
stare at the fountain all the time.  Why have you come to
Edelweiss?"  She asked the question so boldly that his startled
embarrassment was an unspoken confession.  He calmed himself and
hesitated long before answering, weighing his reply.  She sat
close beside him, her clear gray eyes reading him like a book.

"I came to see a Miss Guggenslocker," he answered at last.

"For what purpose?  There must have been an urgent cause to bring
you so far.  You are not an American banker?"

"I had intended to ask her to be my wife," he said, knowing that
secrecy was useless and seeing a faint hope.

"You did not find Miss Guggenslocker."

"No.  I have not found her."

"And are you going home disappointed, Mr, Lorry, because she is
not here?"

"I leave the answer to your tender imagination."

There was a long pause.

"May I ask when you expect to leave Graustark?" she asked,
somewhat timidly.

"Why do you wish to know?" he asked in turn.

"Because I know how hopeless your quest has been.  You have found
Miss Guggenslocker, but she is held behind a wall so strong and
impregnable that you cannot reach her with the question you came
to ask.  You have come to that wall, and now you must turn back.
I have asked, how soon?"

"Not until your Princess bids me take up my load and go.  You
see, my lady, I love to sit beneath the shadow of the wall you
describe.  It will require a royal edict to compel me to abandon
my position."

"You cannot expect the Princess to drive you from her country,
--you who have done so much for her.  You must go, Mr. Lorry,
without her bidding."

"I must?"

"Yes, for your presence outside that wall may make the
imprisonment all the more unendurable for the one your love
cannot reach.  Do you understand me?"

"Has the one behind the wall instructed you to say this to me?"
he asked miserably.

"She has not.  I do not know her heart, but I am a woman and have
a woman's foresight.  If you wish to be kind and good to her,
go!"

"I cannot!" he exclaimed, his pent feelings bursting forth.  "I
cannot go!"

"You will not be so selfish and so cruel as to increase the
horror of the wreck that is sure to come," she said, drawing
back.

"You know, Countess, of the life-saving crews who draw from the
wrecks of ships lives that were hopelessly lost?  There is to be
a
wreck here; is there to be a life-saver?  When the night is
darkest, the sea wildest, when hope is gone, is not that the time
when rescue is most precious?  Tell me, you who know all there is
of this approaching disaster?"

"I cannot command you to leave Edelweiss; I can only tell you
that you will have something to answer for if you stay," said the
Countess.

"Will you help me if I show to you that I can reach the wreck and
save the one who clings to it despairingly?" he asked, smiling,
suddenly calm and confident.

"Willingly, for I love the one who is going down in the sea.  I
have spoken to you seriously, though, and I trust you will not
misunderstand me.  I like you and I like Mr. Anguish.  You could
stay here forever so far as I am concerned."

He thought long and intently over what she had said as he smoked
his cigar on the great balcony that night.  In his heart he knew
he was adding horror, but that persistent hope of the life-saver
came up fresh and strong to combat the argument.  He saw, in one
moment, the vast chasm between the man and the princess; in the
next, he laughed at the puny space.

Down on the promenade he could see the figures of men and women
strolling in the moonlight.  To his ears came the occasional
laugh of a man, the silvery gurgle of a woman.  The royal
military band was playing in the stand near the edge of the great
circle.  There was gaiety, comfort, charm and security about
everything that came to his eyes and ears.  Was it possible that
this peace, unruffled, was so near its end?

He smiled as he neard Harry Anguish laugh gaily in his good old
way, his ringing tones mingling with a woman's.  There was no
trouble in the hearts of the Countess and his blithe comrade.
Behind him rose the grim castle walls, from the windows of which,
here and there, gleamed the lights of the night.  Where was she?
He had seen her in the afternoon and had talked with her, had
walked with her.  Their conversation had been bright, but of the
commonplace kind.  She had said nothing to indicate that she
remembered the hour spent beside his couch a day or so before; he
had uttered none of the words that struggled to rush from his
lips, the questions, the pleadings, the vows.  Where was she now?
Not in that gay crowd below, for he had scanned every figure with
the hawk's eve.  Closeted again, no doubt, with her ministers,
wearying her tired brain, her brave heart into fatigue without
rest.

Her court still trembled with the excitement of the daring
attempt of the abductors and their swift punishment.
Functionaries flocked to Edelweiss to inquire after the welfare
of the Princess, and indignation was at the highest pitch.  There
were theories innumerable as to the identity of the
arch-conspirator.  Baron Dangloss was at sea completely.  He
cursed himself and everybody else for the hasty and ill-timed
execution of the hirelings.  It was quite evident that the buzzing
wonder and intense feeling of the people had for the moment
driven out all thought of the coming day of judgment and its bitter
atonement for all Graustark.  To-day the castle was full of the
nobility, drawn to its walls by the news that had startled them
beyond all expression.  The police were at work, the military
trembled with rage, the people clamored for the apprehension of
the man who had been the instigator of this audacity.  The
general belief was that some brigand chief from the south had
planned the great theft for the purpose of securing a fabulous
ransom.  Grenfall Lorry had an astonishing theory in his mind,
and the more he thought it over the more firmly it was imbedded.

The warm, blue coils from the cigar wafted away into the night,
carrying with them a myriad of tangled thoughts,--of her, of
Axphain, of the abductor, of himself, of everything.  A light
step on the stone floor of the shadowy balcony attracted his
attention.  He turned his head and saw the Princess Yetive.  She
was walking slowly toward the balustrade, not aware of his
presence.  There was no covering for the dark hair, no wrap about
the white shoulders.  She wore an exquisite gown of white,
shimmering with the reflections from the moon that scaled the
mountain top.  She stood at the balustrade, her hands clasping a
bouquet of red roses, her chin lifted, her eyes gazing toward the
mountain's crest, the prettiest picture he had ever seen.  The
strange dizziness of love overpowered him.  His hungry eyes
glanced upward towards the sky which she was blessing with her
gaze, and beheld another picture, gloomy, grim, cheerless.

Against the moonlit screen of the universe clung the black tower
of that faraway monastery in the clouds, the home of the monks of
Saint Valentine.  Out of the world, above the world, a part of
the sky itself, it stood like the spectre of a sentinel whose
ghostly guardian.  ship appalled and yet soothed.

He could not, would not move.  To have done so meant the
desecration of a picture so delicate that a breath upon its
surface would have swept it forever from the vision.  How long he
revelled in the glory of the picture he knew not, for it was as
if he looked from a dream.  At last he saw her look down upon the
roses, lift them slowly and drop them over the rail.  They fell
to the ground below.  He thought he understood; the gift of a
prince despised.

They were not twenty feet apart.  He advanced to her side,
his hat in one hand, his stick--the one that felled the
Viennese--trembling in the other.

"I did not know you were here," she exclaimed, in half frightened
amazement.  "I left my ladies inside."

He was standing beside her, looking down into the eyes.

"And I am richer because of your ignorance," he said, softly.  "I
have seen a picture that shall never leave my memory--never!  Its
beauty enthralled, enraptured.  Then I saw the drama of the
roses.  Ah, your Highness, the crown is not always a mask."

"The roses were--were of no consequence," she faltered.

"I have heard how you stand between two suitors and that wretched
treaty.  My heart has ached to tell you how I pity you."

"It is not pity I need, but courage.  Pity will not aid me in my
duty, Mr. Lorry.  It stands plainly before me, this duty, but I
have not the courage to take it up and place it about my neck
forever."

"You do not, cannot love this Lorenz?" he asked.

"Love him!" she cried.  "Ach, I forget!  You do not know him.
Yet I shall doubtless be his wife."  There was an eternity of
despair in that low, steady voice.

"You shall not!  I swear you shall not!"

"Oh, he is a prince!  I must accept the offer that means
salvation to Graustark.  Why do you make it harder with torture
which you think is kindness?  Listen to me.  Next week I am to
give my answer.  He will be here, in this castle.  My father
brought this calamity upon Graustark; I must lift it from the
people.  What has my happiness to do with it?"

Her sudden strength silenced him, crushed him with the real
awakening of helplessness.  He stood beside her, looking up at
the cold monastery, strangely conscious that she was gazing
toward the same dizzy height.

"It looks so peaceful up there," she said at last.

"But so cold and cheerless," he added, drearily.  There was
another long silence in which two hearts communed through the
medium of that faraway sentinel.  "They have not discovered a
clue to the chief abductor, have they?" he asked, in an effort to
return to his proper sphere.

"Baron Dangloss believes he has a clue--a meager and
unsatisfactory one, he admits--and to-day sent officers to
Ganlook to investigate the actions of a strange man who was there
last week, a man who styled himself the Count of Arabazon, and
who claimed to be of Vienna.  Some Austrians had been hunting
stags and bears in the north, however, and it is possible he is
one of them."  She spoke slowly, her eyes still bent on the home
of the monks.

"Your highness, I have a theory, a bold and perhaps a criminal
theory, but you will allow me to tell you why I am possessed of
it.  I am aware that there is a Prince Gabriel.  It is my opinion
that no Viennese is guilty, nor are the brigands to be accused of
this masterpiece in crime.  Have you thought how far a man may go
to obtain his heart's desire?"

She looked at him instantly, her eyes wide with growing
comprehension, the solution to the mystery darting into her mind
like a flash.

"You mean--" she began, stopping as if afraid to voice the
suspicion.

"That Prince Gabriel is the man who bought your guards and hired
Geddos and Ostrom to carry you to the place where he could own
you, whether you would or no," said Lorry.

"But he could never have forced me to marry him, and I should,
sooner or later, have exposed him," she whispered,
argumentatively.  "He could not expect me to be silent and submit
to a marriage under such circumstances.  He knows that I would
denounce him, even at the altar."

"You do not appreciate my estimate of that gentleman."

"What is to become of me!" she almost sobbed, in an anguish of
fear.  "I see now--I see plainly!  It was Gabriel, and he would
have done as you say."  A shudder ran through her figure and he
tenderly whispered in her ear:

"The danger is past.  He can do no more, your Highness.  Were I
positive that he is the man--and I believe he is--I would hunt
him down this night."

Her eyes closed happily under his gaze, her hand dropped timidly
from his arm and a sweet sense of security filled her soul.

"I am not afraid," she murmured.

"Because I am here?" he asked, bending nearer.

"Because God can bless with the same hand that punishes," she
answered, enigmatically, lifting her lashes again and looking
into his eyes with a love at last unmasked.  "He gives me a man
to love and denies me happiness.  He makes of me a woman, but He
does not unmake me a princess.  Through you, He thwarts a
villain; through you, He crushes the innocent.  More than ever, I
thank you for coming into my life.  You and you alone, guided by
the God who loves and despises me, saved me from Gabriel."

"I only ask--" he began, eagerly, but she interrupted.

"You should not ask anything, for I have said I cannot pay.  I
owe to you all I have, but cannot pay the debt."

"I shall not again forget," he murmured.

"To-morrow, if you like, I will take you over the castle and let
you see the squalor in which I exist,--my throne room, my chapel,
my banquet hall, my ball room, my conservatory, my sepulchre.
You may say it is wealth, but I shall call it poverty," she said,
after they had watched the black monastery cut a square corner
from the moon's circle.

"To-morrow, if you will be so kind."

"Perhaps I may be poorer after I have saved Graustark," she said.

"I would to God I could save you from that!" he said.

"I would to God you could," she said.  Her manner changed
suddenly.  She laughed gaily, turning a light face to his.  "I
hear your friend's laugh out there in the darkness.  It is
delightfully infectious,"




XIV

THE EPISODE OF THE THRONE ROOM


"This is the throne room.  Allode!"

The Princess Yetive paused before two massive doors.  It was the
next afternoon, and she had already shown him the palace of a
queen--the hovel of a pauper!

Through the afternoon not one word other than those which might
have passed between good friends escaped the lips of either.  He
was all interest, she all graciousness.  Allode, the sturdy
guard, swung open the doors, drew the curtain, and stood aside
for them to pass.  Into the quiet hall she led him, a princess in
a gown of gray, a courtier in tweeds.  Inside the doors he
paused.

"And I thought you were Miss Guggenslocker," he said.  She
laughed with the glee of a child who has charmed and delighted
through surprise.

"Am I not a feeble mite to sit on that throne and rule all that
comes within its reach?" She directed his attention to the throne
at the opposite end of the hall.  "From its seat I calmly
instruct gray-haired statesmen, weigh their wisdom and pass upon
it as if I were Demosthenes, challenge the evils that may drive
monarchs mad, and wonder if my crown is on straight."

"Let me be ambassador from the United States and kneel at the
throne, your Highness."

"I could not engage in a jest with the crown my ancestors wore,
Mr. Lorry.  It is sacred, thou thoughtless American.  Come, we
will draw nearer that you may see the beauty of the workmanship
in that great old chair."

They stood at the base of the low, velveted stage on which stood
the chair, with its high back, its massive arms and legs ashimmer
in the light from the lofty windows.  It was of gold, inlaid with
precious stones--diamonds, rubies, emeralds, sapphires and other
wondrous jewels--a relic of ancient Graustark.

"I never sit in the center.  Always at one side or the other,
usually leaning my elbow on the arm.  You see, the discussions
are generally so long and dreary that I become fatigued.  One
time,--I am ashamed to confess it, I went to sleep on the throne.
That was long ago.  I manage to keep awake very well of late.  Do
you like my throne room?"

"And to think that it is yours!"

"It is this room that gives me the right to be hailed with 'Long
live the Princess!'  Not with campaign yells and 'Hurrah for
Yetive!'  How does that sound?  'Hurrah for Yetive!'"  She was
laughing merrily.

"Don't say it!  It sounds sacrilegious--revolting!"

"For over three years--since I was eighteen--I have been supreme
in that chair.  During the years of my reign prior to that time I
sat there with my Uncle Caspar standing beside me.  How often I
begged him to sit down with me!  There was so much room and he
certainly must have grown tired of standing.  One time I cried
because he frowned at me when I persisted in the presence of a
great assemblage of nobles from Dawsbergen.  It seems that it was
a most important audience that I was granting, but I thought more
of my uncle's tired old legs.  I remember saying, through my sobs
of mortification, that I would have him beheaded.  You are to
guess whether that startling threat created consternation or
mirth."

"What a whimsical little princess you must have been, weeping and
pouting and going to sleep," he laughed.  "And how sedate and
wise you have become."

"Thank you.  How very nice you are.  I knave felt all along that
some one would discern my effort to be dignified and sedate.
They say I am wise and good and gracious, but that is to be
expected.  They said that of sovereigns as far back as the
deluge, I've heard.  Would you really like to see me in that old
chair?" she asked.

"Ah, you are still a woman," he said, smiling at her pretty
vanity.  "Nothing could impress me more pleasantly."

She stepped carelessly and impulsively upon the royal platform,
leaned against the arm of the throne, and with the charming blush
of consciousness turned to him with the quickness of a guilty
conscience, eager to hear his praise but fearful lest he secretly
condemned her conceit.  His eyes were burning with the admiration
that knows no defining, and his breath came quick and sharp
through parted lips.  He involuntarily placed a foot upon the
bottom step as if to spring to her side,

"You must not come up here!" she cried, shrinking back, her hands
extended in fluttering remonstrance.  "I cannot permit that, at
all!"

"I beg your pardon," he cried, "That is all the humble plebeian
can say.  That I may be more completely under this fairy spell,
pray cast about yourself the robe of rank and take up the
sceptre.  Perhaps I may fall upon my face."

"And hurt your head all over again," she said, laughing
nervously.  She hesitated for a moment, a perplexed frown
crossing her brow.  Then she jerked a rich robe from the back of
the throne and placed it about her shoulders as only a woman can.
Taking up the scepter she stood before the great chair, and, with
a smile on her lips, held it above his head, saying softly:

"Graustark welcomes the American prince."

He sank to his knee before the real princess, kissed the hem of
her robe and arose with face pallid.  The chasm was now endless
in its immensity.  The princess gingerly seated herself on the
throne, placed her elbow on the broad arm, her white chin in her
hand, and tranquilly surveyed the voiceless American prince.

"You have not said, 'Thank you,'" she said, finally, her eyes
wavering beneath his steady gaze.

"I am only thinking how easy it would be to cross the gulf that
lies between us.  With two movements of my body I can place it
before you, with a third I can be sitting at your side.  It is
not so difficult after all," he said, hungrily eyeing the broad
chair.

"No man, unless a prince, ever sat upon this throne," she said.

"You have called me a prince."

"Oh, I jested," she cried quickly, comprehending his intention.
"I forbid you!"

The command came too late, for he was beside her on the throne
of Graustark!  She sat perfectly rigid for a moment, intense fear
in her eyes.

"Do you know what you have done?" she whispered, miserably.

"Usurped the throne," he replied, assuming an ease and
complacence he did not feel.  Truly he was guilty of
unprecedented presumption.

"You have desecrated--desecrated!  Do you hear?" she went on,
paying no attention to his remark.

"Peccavl.  Ah, Your Highness, I delight in my sin.  For once I am
a power; I speak from the throne.  You will not have me abdicate
in the zenith of my glory?  Be kind, most gracious one.  Besides,
did you not once cry because your uncle refused to sit with you?
Had he been the possessor of a dangerous wound, as I am, and had
he found himself so weak that he could stand no longer, I am sure
he would have done as I have--sat down in preference to falling
limp at your feet.  You do not know how badly I am wounded," he
pleaded, with the subtlest double meaning.

"Why should you wound me?" she asked, plaintively.  "You have no
right to treat the throne I occupy as a subject for pranks and
indignities.  I did not believe you could be so--forgetful."
There was a proud and pitiful resentment in her voice that
brought him to his senses at once.  He had defiled her throne.
In shame and humiliation he cried:

"I am a fool--an ingrate, You have been too gentle with me.  For
this despicable act of mine I cannot ask pardon and it would be
beneath you to grant it.  I have hurt you, and I can never atone.
I forgot how sacred is your throne.  Let me depart in disgrace."
He stood erect as if to forsake the throne he had stained, but
she, swayed by a complete reversal of feeling, timidly,
pleadingly touched his arm.

"Stay!  It is my throne, after all.  I shall divide it, as well
as the sin, with you.  Sit down again, I beg of you.  For a brief
spell I would rule beside a man who is fit to be a king but who
is a desecrator.  There can be no harm and no one shall be the
wiser for this sentimental departure from royal custom.  We are
children, anyhow--mere children."

With an exclamation of delight, he resumed his position beside
her.  His hand trembled as he took up hers to carry it to his
lips.  "We are children--playing with fire," he murmured, this
ingrate, this fool!

She allowed her hand to lie limply in his, her head sinking to
the back of the chair.  When her hand was near his feverish lips,
cool and white and trusting, he checked the upward progress.
Slowly he raised his eyes to study her face, finding that hers
were closed, the semblance of a smile touching her lips as if
they were in a happy dream.

The lips!  The lips!  The lips!  The madness of love rushed into
his heart; the expectant hand was forgotten; his every hope and
every desire measured themselves against his discretion as he
looked upon the tempting face.  Could he kiss those lips but once
his life would be complete.

With a start she opened her eyes, doubtless at the command of the
masterful ones above.  The eyes of blue met the eyes of gray in a
short, sharp struggle, and the blue went down in surrender.  His
lips triumphed slowly, drawing closer and closer as if restrained
and impelled by the same emotion--arrogant love.

"Open your eyes, darling," he whispered, and she obeyed.  Then
their lips met--her first kiss of love!

She trembled from head to foot, perfectly powerless beneath the
spell.  Again he kissed a princess on her throne.  At this second
kiss her eyes grew wide with terror, and she sprang from his
side, standing before him like one bereft of reason.

"Oh, my God!  What have you done?" she wailed.  He staggered to
his feet, dizzy with joy.

"Ha!" cried a gruff voice from the doorway, and the guilty ones
whirled to look upon the witness to their blissful crime.  Inside
the curtains, with carbine leveled at the head of the American,
stood Allode, the guard, his face distorted by rage.  The
Princess screamed and leaped between Lorry and the threatening
carbine.

"Allode!" she cried, in frantic terror.

He angrily cried out something in his native tongue and she
breathlessly, imploringly replied.  Lorry did not understand
their words, but be knew that she had saved him from death at the
hand of her loyal, erring guard.  Allode lowered his gun, bowed
low and turned his back upon the throne.

"He--he would have killed you," she said, tremulously, her face
the picture of combined agony and relief.  She remembered the
blighting kisses and then the averted disaster.

"You--what did you say to him?" he asked.

"I--I--oh, I will not tell you," she cried.

"I beg of you!"

"I told him that he was to--was to put down his gun."

"I know that, but why?" he persisted.

"I--Ach, to save you, stupid!"

"How did you explain the--the--" He hesitated, generously.

"I told him that I had not been--that I had not been--"

"Say it!"

"That I had not been--offended!" she gasped, standing stiff and
straight, with eyes glued upon the obedient guard.

"You were not?" he rapturously cried.

"I said it only to save your life!" she cried, turning fiercely
upon him.  "I shall never forgive you!  Never!  You must go--you
must leave here at once!  Do you hear?  I cannot have you near me
now--I cannot see you again.  Ach, God!  What have I given you
the right to say of me?"

"Stop!  It is as sacred as--"

"Yes, yes--I understand!  I trust you, but you must go!  Find
some excuse to give your friend and go to-day!  Go now!" she
cried, intensely, first putting her hands to her temples, then to
her eyes.

Without waiting to hear his remonstrance, if indeed he had the
power to utter one, she glided swiftly toward the curtains,
allowing him to follow at his will.  Dazed and crushed at the
sudden end to everything, he dragged his footsteps after.  At the
door she spoke in low, imperative tones to the motionless Allode,
who dropped to his knees and muttered a reverential response.  As
Lorry passed beneath the hand that held the curtain aside, he
glanced at the face of the man who had been witness to their
weakness.  He was looking straight ahead, and, from his
expression, it could not have been detected that he knew there
was a man on earth save himself.  In the hall she turned to him,
her face cold and pale.

"I have faithful guards about me now.  Allode has said he did not
see you in the throne room.  He will die before he will say
otherwise," she said, her lips trembling with shame.

"By your command?"

"By my request.  I do not command my men to lie."

Side by side they passed down the quiet hall, silent, thoughtful,
the strain of death upon their hearts.

"I shall obey the only command you have given, then.  This day I
leave the castle.  You will let me come again--to see you?  There
can be no harm--"

"No!  You must leave Graustark at once!" she interrupted, the
tones low.

"I refuse to go!  I shall remain in Edelweiss, near you, just so
long as I feel that I may be of service to you."

"I cannot drive you out as I would a thief," she said, pointedly.

At the top of the broad staircase he held out his hand and
murmured:

"Good-by, your Highness!"

"Good-by," she said, simply, placing her hand in his after a
moment's hesitation.  Then she left him.

An hour later the two Americans, one strangely subdued, the other
curious, excited and impatient, stood before the castle waiting
for the carriage.  Count Halfont was with them, begging them to
remain, as he could see no reason for the sudden leave-taking.
Lorry assured him that they had trespassed long enough on the
Court's hospitality, and that he would feel much more comfortable
at the hotel.  Anguish looked narrowly at his friend's face, but
said nothing.  He was beginning to understand.

"Let us walk to the gates.  The Count will oblige us by
instructing the coachman to follow," said Lorry, eager to be off.

"Allow me to join you in the walk, gentlemen," said Count Caspar,
immediately instructing a lackey to send the carriage after them.
He and Lorry walked on together, Anguish lingering behind, having
caught sight of the Countess Dagmar.  That charming and
unconventional piece of nobility promptly followed the prime
minister's example and escorted the remaining guest to the gate.

Far down the walk Lorry turned for a last glance at the castle
from which love had banished him.  Yetive was standing on the
balcony, looking not at the monastery but at the exile.

She remained there long after the carriage had passed her gates,
bearing the Americans swiftly over the white Castle Avenue, and
there were tears in her eyes.




XV

THE BETROTHAL


Harry Anguish was a discreet, forbearing fellow.  He did not
demand a full explanation of his friend.  There was enough
natural wit in his merry head to see that in connection with
their departure there was something that would not admit of
discussion, even by confidential friends.  He shrewdly formed his
own conclusions and held his peace.  Nor did he betray surprise
when Lorry informed him, in answer to a question, that he
intended to remain in Edelweiss for some time, adding that he
could not expect him to do likewise if he preferred to return to
Paris.  But Mr. Anguish preferred to remain in Edelweiss.  Had
not the Countess Dagmar told him she would always be happy to see
him at the castle, and had he any reason to renounce its walls?
And so it was that they tarried together.

Lorry loitered aimlessly, moodily about the town, spending gloomy
days and wretched nights.  He reasoned that it were wisdom to
fly, but a force stronger than reason held him in Edelweiss.  He
ventured several times to the castle wall, but turned back
resolutely.  There was hope in his breast that she might send for
him; there was, at least, the possibility of seeing her should
she ride through the streets.  Anguish, on the other hand,
visited the castle daily.  He spent hours with the pretty
Countess, undismayed by the noble moths that fluttered about her
flame, and he was ever persistent, light-hearted and gay.  He
brought to Lorry's ears all that he could learn of the Princess.
Several times he had seen her and had spoken with her.  She
inquired casually after the health of his friend, but nothing
more.  From the Countess he ascertained that Her Highness was
sleeping soundly, eating heartily and apparently enjoying the
best of spirits--information decidedly irritating to the one who
received it second-hand.

They had been at the hotel for over a week when one afternoon
Anguish rushed into the room, out of breath and scarcely able to
control his excitement.

"What's up?" cried Lorry.  "Has the Countess sacked you?"

"Not on your coin!  But something is up, and I am its discoverer.
You remember what you said about suspecting Prince Gabriel of
being the chief rascal in the abduction job?  Well, my boy, I am
now willing to stake my life that he is the man."  The news-bearer
sat down on the edge of the bed and drew the first long breath
he had had in a long time.

"Why do you think so?" demanded the other, all interest.

"Heard him talking just now.  I didn't know who the fellow was at
first, but he was talking to some strange-looking soldiers as I
passed.  As soon as I heard his voice I knew he was Michael.
There isn't any question about it, Lorry.  I am positive.  He did
not observe me, but I suppose by this time he has learned that
his little job was frustrated by two Americans who heard the plot
near the castle gates.  He has nerve to come here, hasn't he?"

"If he is guilty, yes.  Still, he may feel secure because he is a
powerful prince and able to resent any accusation with a show of
force.  Where is he now?"

"I left him there.  Come on!  We'll go down and you can see for
yourself."

They hurried to the corridor, which was swarming with men in
strange uniforms.  There were a few Graustark officers, but the
majority of the buzzing conversationalists were dressed in a rich
gray uniform.

"Who are these strangers?" asked Lorry.

"Oh, I forgot to tell you.  Prince Lorenz is also here, and these
gray fellows are a part of his retinue.  Lorenz has gone on to
the castle.  What's the matter?"  Lorry had turned pale and was
reaching for the wall with unsteady hand.

"He has come for his answer," he said, slowly, painfully.

"That's right!  I hadn't thought of that.  I hope she turns him
down.  But there's Gabriel over yonder.  See those three fellows
in blue?  The middle one is the prince."

Near the door leading to the piazza stood several men, gray and
blue.  The man designated as Gabriel was in the center, talking
gaily and somewhat loudly, puffing at a cigarette between
sentences.  He was not tall, but he was strongly and compactly
built.  His hair and cropped beard were as black as coal, his
eyes wide, black and lined, It was a pleasure-worn face, and
Lorry shuddered as he thought of the Princess in the power of
this evil-looking wretch.  They leisurely made their way to a
spot near the talkers.  There was no mistaking the voice.  Prince
Gabriel and Michael were one and the same, beyond all doubt.  But
how to prove it to the satisfaction of others?

Skepticism would follow any attempt to proclaim the prince guilty
because his voice sounded like that of the chief conspirator.  In
a matter where whole nations were concerned the gravest
importance would be attached to the accusation of a ruler.
Satisfying themselves as to the identity of that peculiar voice,
the friends passed through to the piazza.

"What's to be done?" asked Anguish, boiling over with excitement.

"We must go to Baron Dangloss, tell him of our positive
discovery, and then consult Count Halfont."

"And Her Royal Highness, of course."

"Yes, I suppose so," said Lorry, flicking the ashes from his
cigar with a finger that was now steady.  He was serving the
Princess again.

They hurried to the Tower, and were soon in the presence of the
fierce little chief of police.  Lorry had spent many hours with
Dangloss of late, and they had become friends.  His grim old face
blanched perceptibly as he heard the assertions of the young men.
He shook his head despairingly.

"It may be as you say, gentlemen, but I am afraid we can do
nothing.  To charge a prince with such a crime and on such
evidence would be madness.  I am of your belief, however.  Prince
Gabriel is the man I have suspected.  Now I am convinced.  Before
we can do anything in such a grave matter it will be necessary to
consult the Princess and her ministers.  In case we conclude to
accuse the Prince of Dawsbergen, it must be after careful and
judicious thought.  There are many things to consider, gentlemen.
For my part, I would be overjoyed to seize the villain and to
serve him as we did his tools, but my hands are tied, you see.  I
would suggest that you go at once to the Princess and Count
Halfont, tell them of your suspicions--"

"Not suspicions, my lord,--facts," interrupted Anguish.

"Well, then, facts, and ascertain how they feel about taking up a
proposition that may mean war.  May I ask you to come at once to
me with their answer.  It is possible that they will call for a
consultation with the ministers, nobles and high officers.
Still, I fear they will be unwilling to risk much on the rather
flimsy proof you can give.  Gabriel is powerful and we do not
seek a war with him.  There is another foe for whom we are
quietly whetting our swords."  The significant remark caused both
listeners to prick up their ears.  But he disappointed, their
curiosity, and they were left to speculate as to whom the other
foe might be.  Did he mean that Graustark was secretly, slyly
making ready to resist, treaty or no treaty?

It required prolonged urging on the part of Anguish to persuade
Lorry to accompany him to the castle, but, when once determined
to go before the Princess with their tale, he was eager,
impatient to cross the distance that lay between the hotel and
the forbidden grounds.  They walked rapidly down Castle Avenue
and were soon at the gates.  The guard knew them, and they were
admitted without a word.  As they hurried through the park they
saw many strange men in gray, gaudy uniforms, and it occurred to
Lorry that their visit, no matter how great its importance, was
ill-timed.  Prince Lorenz was holding the center of the stage.

Anguish, with his customary impulsiveness, overruled Lorry's
objections, and they proceeded toward the entrance.  The guards
of the Princess saluted profoundly, while the minions of Lorenz
stared with ill-bred wonder upon these two tall men from another
world.  It could be seen that the castle was astir with
excitement, subdued and pregnant with thriving hopes and fears.
The nobility of Graustark was there; the visitors of Axphain were
being entertained.

At the castle doors the two met their first obstacle, but they
had anticipated its presence Two guards halted them peremptorily.

"We must see Her Royal Highness," said Anguish, but the men could
not understand him.  They stoically stood their ground, shaking
their heads.

"Let us find some one who can understand us," advised Lorry, and
in a few moments they presented themselves before the guards,
accompanied by a young nobleman with whom they had acquaintance.
He succeeded in advancing them to the reception hall inside the
doors and found for them a servant who would carry a message to
the Princess if it were possible to gain her presence.  The
nobleman doubted very much, however, if the missive hastily
written by Lorry could find its way to her, as she had never been
so occupied as now.

Lorry, in his brief note, prayed for a short audience for himself
and Mr. Anguish, requesting that Count Halfont be present.  He
informed her that his mission was of the most imperative nature
and that it related to a discovery made concerning the Prince
who had tried to abduct her.  In conclusion, he wrote that Baron
Dangloss had required him to lay certain facts before her and
that he had come with no intention to annoy her.

While they sat in the waiting room they saw, through the glass
doors, dozens of richly attired men and women in the hall beyond.
They were conversing animatedly, Graustark men and women with
dejected faces, Axphainians with exultation glowing in every
glance.  Lorry's heart sank within him.  It seemed hours before
the servant returned to bid them follow him.  Then his blood
leaped madly through veins that had been chilled and lifeless.
He was to see Her again!

Their guide conducted them to a small anteroom, where he left
them.  A few moments later the door opened and there swept
quickly into the room--the Countess Dagmar, not the Princess.
Her face was drawn with the trouble and sorrow she was trying so
hard to conceal.  Both men were on their feet in an instant,
advancing to meet her.

"The Princess?  Is she ill?" demanded Lorry.

"Not ill, but mad, I fear," answered she, giving a hand to each.
"Mr. Lorry, she bids me say to you that she cannot see you.  She
appreciates the importance of your mission and thanks you for the
interest you have taken.

"Also, she authorizes me to assure you that nothing can be done at
present regarding the business on which you come."

"She refuses to see us," said he, slowly, his face whiter than
ever.

"Nay; she begs that you will excuses her.  Her Highness is sorely
worn and distressed today, and I fear cannot endure all that is
happening.  She is apparently calm and composed, but I, who know
her so well, can see the strain beneath."

"Surely she must see the urgency of quick action in this matter
of ours," cried Anguish half angrily.  "We are not dogs to be
kicked out of the castle.  We have a right to be treated fairly--"

"We cannot censure the Princess, Harry," said Lorry, calmly.  "We
have come because we would befriend her, and she sees fit to
reject our good offices.  There is but one thing left for us to
do--depart as we came."

"But I don't like it a little bit," growled the other.

"If you only knew, Mr. Anguish, you would not be so harsh and
unjust," remonstrated the lady, warmly.  Turning to Lorry she
said: "She asked me to hand you this and to bid you retain it as
a token of her undying esteem."

She handed him a small, exquisite miniature of the Princess,
framed in gold inlaid with rubies.  He took it dumbly in his
fingers, but dared not look at the portrait it contained.  With
what might have seemed disrespect he dropped the treasure into
his coat pocket.

"Tell her I shall always retain it as a token' of her--esteem,"
he said.  "And now may I ask whether she handed my note to her
uncle, the Count?"

The Countess blushed in a most unaccountable manner.

"Not while I was with her," she said, recovering the presence of
mind she apparently had lost.

"She destroyed it, I presume," said he, laughing harshly.

"I saw her place it in her bosom, sir, and with the right hand,"
cried the Countess, as if betraying a state secret.

"In her--you are telling me the truth?" cried he, his face
lighting up.

"Now, see here, Lorry, don't begin to question the
Countess's word.  I won't stand for that, "interposed Anguish,
good-humoredly.

"I should be more than base to say falsely that she had done
anything so absurd," said the Countess, indignantly.

"Where is she now?" asked Lorry.

"In her boudoir.  The Prince Lorenz is with her--alone."

"What!" he cried, jealousy darting into his existence.  He had
never known jealousy before.

"They are betrothed," said she, with an effort.  There was a dead
silence, broken by Lorry's deep groan as he turned and walked
blindly to the opposite side of the room.  He stopped in front of
a huge painting and stared at it, but did not see a line or a
tint.

"You don't mean to say she has accepted?" half whispered Anguish.

"Nothing less."

"Thank God, you are only a Countess," he said, tenderly.

"Why--why--what difference can it make! I mean, why do you say
that?" she stammered, crimson to her hair.

"Because you won't have to sell yourself at a sacrifice," he
said, foolishly.  Lorry came back to them at this juncture,
outwardly calm and deliberate.

"Tell us about it, pray.  We had guessed as much."

"Out there are his people,--the wretches!" she cried,
vindictively, her pretty face in a helpless frown.  "To-day was
the day, you know, on which he was to have his answer.  He came
and knelt in the audience chamber.  All Graustark had implored
her to refuse the hated offer, but she bade him rise, and there,
before us all; promised to become his bride.

"The greatest sorrow Graustark has ever known grows out of that
decision.  She is determined to save for us what her father's
folly lost.  To do this she becomes the bride of a vile wretch, a
man who soils her pure nature when he thinks of her.  Oh, we
sought to dissuade her,--we begged, we entreated, but without
avail.  She will not sacrifice one foot of Graustark to save
herself.  See the triumphant smiles on their faces--the brutes!"
She pointed maliciously to the chattering visitors in the hall.
"Already they think the castle theirs.  The union of Graustark
and Axphain!  Just what they most desired, but we could not make
her see it so."

"Is the day set?" asked Lorry, bravely, after a moments silent
inspection of the dark-browed victors.

"Yes, and there is to be no delay.  The marriage contract has
already been signed.  The date is November 20th, the day on which
we are to account to Bolaroz for our war debt.

"The old Prince's wedding gift to Graustark is to be a document
favoring us with a ten years' extension," she said, scornfully.

"And where is she to live?"

"Here, of course.  She is Graustark's ruler, and here she insists
on abiding.  Just contemplate our court!  Over-run with those
Axphain dogs!  Ah, she has wounded Graustark more than she has
helped her."

There was nothing more to be said or done, so, after a few
moments, the Americans took their departure.  The Countess bade
them farewell, saying that she must return to the Princess.

"I'll see you to-morrow," said Anguish, with rare assurance and
the air of an old and indispensable friend.

"And you, Mr. Lorry?" she said, curiously.

"I am very much occupied," he mumbled.

"You do wrong in seeking to deceive me," she whispered, as
Anguish passed through the door ahead of them.  "I know why you
do not come."

"Has she told you?"

"I have guessed.  Would that it could have been you and not the
other."

"One cannot be a man and a prince at the same time, I fancy," he
said, bitterly.

"Nor can one be a princess and a woman." Lorry recalled the
conversation in the sickroom two weeks before and smiled
ironically.  The friendly girl left them at the door and they
passed out of the castle.

"I shall leave Edelweiss to-morrow," said one, more to himself
than to his companion, as they crossed the parade.  The other
gave a start and did not look pleased.  Then he instinctively
glanced toward the castle.

"The Princess is at her window," he cried, clutching Lorry's arm
and pointing back.  But the other refused to turn, walking on
blindly.  "You ought not to have acted like that, Gren," said
Anguish, a few moments later.  "She saw me call your attention to
her, and she saw you refuse to look back.  I don't think that you
should have hurt her."  Lorry did not respond, and there was no
word between them until they were outside the castle gates.

"You may leave to-morrow, Lorry, if you like, but I'm going to
stay a while," said Harry, a trifle confusedly.

"Haven't you had enough of the place?"

"I don't care a whoop for the place.  You see, it's this way: I'm
just as hard hit as you, and it is not a Princess that I have to
contend with."

"You mean that you are in love with the Countess?"

"Emphatically."

"I'm sorry for you."

"Think she'll turn me down?"

"Unless you buy a title of one of these miserable counts or
dukes."

"Oh, I'm not so sure about that.  These counts and dukes come
over and marry our American girls.  I don't see why I can't step
in and pick out a nice little Countess if I want to."

"She is not as avaricious as the counts and dukes, I'll wager.
She cares nothing fer your money."

"Well, she's as poor as a church mouse," said the other,
doggedly.

"The Countess poor?  How do you know?'

"I asked her one day and she told me all about it," said Anguish.




XVI

A CLASH AND IT'S RESULT


"I feel like spending the rest of my days in that monastery up
there," said Lorry, after dinner that evening.  They were
strolling about the town.  One was determined to leave the city,
the other firm in his resolve to stay.  The latter won the day
when he shrewdly, if explosively, reminded the former that it was
their duty as men to stay and protect the Princess from the
machinations of Gabriel, that knave of purgatory.  Lorry, at last
recognizing the hopelessness of his suit, was ready to throw down
his arms and abandon the field to superior odds.  His presumption
in aspiring for the hand of a Princess began to touch his sense
of humor, and he laughed, not very merrily, it is true, but long
and loudly, at his folly.  At first he cursed the world and every
one in it, giving up in despair, but later he cursed only
himself.  Yet, as he despaired and scoffed, he felt within
himself an ever-present hope that luck might turn the tide of
battle.

This puny ray grew perceptibly when Anguish brought him to feel
that she needed his protection from the man who had once sought
to despoil and who might reasonably be expected to persevere.  He
agreed to linger in Edelweiss, knowing that each day would add
pain to the torture he was already suffering, his sole object
being, he convinced himself, to frustrate Gabriel's evil plans.

Returning late in the evening from their stroll, they entered a
cafe celebrated in Edelweiss.  In all his life Lorry had never
known the loneliness that makes death welcome.  To-night he felt
that he could not live, so maddening was the certainty that he
could never regain joy.  His heart bled with the longing to be
near her who dwelt inside those castle walls.  He scoffed and
grieved, but grieved the more,

The cafe was crowded with men and women.  In a far corner sat a
party of Axphain nobles, their Prince, a most democratic fellow,
at the head of a long table.  There were songs, jests and
boisterous laughter.  The celebration grew wilder, and Lorry and
Anguish crossed the room, and, taking seats at a table, ordered
wine and cigars, both eager for a closer view of the Prince.  How
Lorry loathed him!

Lorenz was a good-looking young fellow, little more than a boy.
His smooth face was flushed, and there was about him an air of
dissipation that suggested depravity in its advanced stage.  The
face that might have been handsome was the reflection of a roue,
dashing, devilish.  He was fair-haired and tall, taller than his
companions by half a head.  With reckless abandon he drank and
sang and jested, arrogant in his flighty merriment.  His cohorts
were not far behind him in riotous wit.

At length one of the revelers, speaking in German, called on
Lorenz for a toast to the Princess Yetive, his promised bride.
Without a moment's hesitation the Prince sprang to his feet, held
his glass aloft, and cried:

"Here's to the fairest of the fair, sweet Yetive, so hard to win,
too good to lose.  She loves me, God bless her heart!  And I love
her, God bless my heart, too!  For each kiss from her wondrous
lips I shall credit myself with one thousand gavvos.  That is the
price of a kiss."

"I'll give two thousand!" roared one of the nobles, and there was
a laugh in which the Prince joined.

"Nay!  I'll not sell them now.  In after years, when she has
grown old and her lips are parched and dry from the sippings I
have had, I'll sell them all at a bargain.  Alas, she has not yet
kissed me!"

Lorry's heart bounded with joy, though his hands were clenched in
rage.

"She will kiss me to-morrow.  To-morrow I shall taste what no
other man has touched, what all men have coveted.  And I'll be
generous, gentlemen.  She is so fair that your foul mouths would
blight with but one caress upon her tender lips, and yet you
shall not, be deprived of bliss.  I shall kiss her thrice for
each of you.  Let me count: thrice eleven is thirty-three.  Aye,
thirty-three of my kisses shall be wasted for the sake of my
friends, lucky dogs!  Drink to my Princess!"

"Bravo!" cried the others, and the glasses were raised to lip.

A chair was overturned.  The form of a man landed suddenly at the
side of the Prince and a rough hand dashed the glass from his
fingers, the contents flying over his immaculate English evening
dress.

"Don't you dare to drink that toast!" cried a voice in his
astonished ear, a voice speaking in excited German.  He whirled
and saw a scowling face beside his own, a pair of gray eyes that
flashed fire.

"What do you mean?" he demanded, anger replacing amazement.  The
other members of his party stood as if spell-bound.

"I mean that you speak of the Princess of Graustark.  Do you
understand that, you miserable cur?"

"Oh!" screamed, the Prince, convulsed with rage, starting back
and instinctively reaching for the sword he did not carry.  "You
shall pay for this!  I will teach you to interfere--"

"I'll insult you more decidedly just to avoid misapprehension,"
snarled Lorry, swinging his big fist squarely upon the mouth of
the Prince.  His Royal Highness landed under a table ten feet
away.

Instantly the cafe was in an uproar.  The stupefied Axphainians
regained their senses and a general assault was made upon the
hotheaded American.  He knocked another down, Harry Anguish
coming to his assistance with several savage blows, after which
the Graustark spectators and the waiters interfered.  It was all
over in an instant, yet a sensation that would live in the gossip
of generations had been created.  A Prince of the realm had been
brutally assaulted!  Holding his jaw, Lorenz picked himself from
the floor, several of his friends running to his aid.  There was
blood on his lips and chin; it trickled to his shirt front.  For
some moments he stood panting, glaring at Lorry's mocking face.

"I am Lorenz of Axphain, sir," he said at last, his voice
quivering with suppressed anger.

"It shall be a pleasure to kill you, Lorenz," observed his
adversary, displaying his ignorance of lese-majeste.

Anguish, pale and very much concerned, dragged him away, the
Prince leaving the cafe ahead of them, followed by his
chattering, cursing companions.  Prince Gabriel was standing near
the door as they passed out.  He looked at the Americans sharply,
and Anguish detected something like triumphant joy in his eyes.

"Good Lord, Lorry; this means a duel!  Don't you know that?"
cried he, as they started upstairs.

"Of course, I do.  And I'm going to kill that villain, too,"
exclaimed Lorry, loud enough to be heard from one end of the room
to the other.

"This is horrible, horrible!  Let me square it up some way if--"
began the alarmed Anguish.

"Square it up!  Look here, Harry Anguish, I am the one who will
do the squaring.  If he wants a duel he can have it at any old
time and in any style he desires."

"He may kill you!"

"Not while a just God rules over our destinies.  I'll take my
chances with pistols, and now let me tell you one thing, my boy:
he'll never live to touch his lips to hers, nor will there be a
royal wedding.  She cannot marry a dead man."  He was beside
himself with excitement and it was fully half an hour before
Anguish could bring him to a sensible discussion of the affair.
Gradually he became cool, and, the fever once gone, he did not
lose his head again.

"Choose pistols at ten paces and at eight tomorrow," he said,
nonchalantly, as a rap at the door of their apartment announced
the arrival of the Prince's friend.

Anguish admitted two well-dressed, black-bearded men, both of
whom had sat at the Prince's table in the cafe.  They introduced
themselves as the Duke of Mizrox and Colonel Attobawn.  Their
visit was brief, formal and conclusive.

"We understand that you are persons of rank in your own America?"
said the Duke of Mizrox, after a few moments.

"We are sons of business men," responded Mr. Anguish.

"Oh, well, I hardly know.  But his Highness is very willing to
waive his rank, and to grant you a meeting."

"I'm delighted by his Highness' condescension, which I perfectly
understand," observed Mr. Anguish.  "Now, what have we to settle,
gentlemen?"

"The detail of weapons."

When Anguish announced that his principal chose pistols a strange
gleam crept into the eyes of the Axphainians, and they seemed
satisfied.  Colonel Attobawn acted as interpreter during this
short but very important interview which was carried on in the
Axphain language.  Lorry sat on the window-sill, steadfastly
gazing into the night.  The visitors departed soon, and it was
understood that Prince Lorenz would condescend to meet Mr. Lorry
at eight o'clock on the next morning in the valley beyond the
castle, two miles from town.  There was no law prohibiting duels
in Graustark.

"Well, you're in for it, old man," said Anguish, gloomily, his
chin in his hands as he fastened melancholy eyes upon his friend.

"Don't worry about me, Harry.  There's only one way for this
thing to end.  His Royal Highness is doomed."  Lorry spoke with
the earnestness and conviction of one who is permitted to see
into the future.

Calmly he prepared to write some letters, not to say farewell,
but to explain to certain persons the cause of the duel and to
say that he gloried in the good fortune which had presented
itself.  One of these letters was addressed to his mother,
another to the father of Prince Lorenz, and the last to the
Princess of Graustark.  To the latter he wrote much that did not
appear in the epistles directed to the others.  Anguish had been
in his room more than an hour, and had frequently called to his
friend and begged him to secure what rest he could in order that
their nerves might be steady in the morning.  But it was not
until after midnight that the duellist sealed the envelopes,
directed them and knocked at his second's door to say:

"I shall entrust these letters to you, Harry.  You must see that
they start on their way tomorrow."

Then he went to bed and to sleep.

At six his second, who had slept but little, called him.  They
dressed hurriedly and prepared for the ride to the valley.  Their
own new English bull-dog revolvers were to serve as weapons in
the coming combat, and a carriage was to be in waiting for them
in a side street at seven o'clock.

Before leaving their room they heard evidences of commotion in
the hotel, and were apprehensive lest the inmates had learned of
the duel and were making ready to follow the fighters to the
appointed spot.  There was a confusion of voices, the sound of
rushing feet, the banging of doors, the noise increasing as the
two men stepped into the open hall.  They were amazed to see
half-dressed men and women standing or running about the halls,
intense excitement in their faces and in their actions.  White
uniformed policemen were flocking into the corridors; soldiers,
coatless and hatless, fresh from their beds, came dashing upon
the scene.  There were excited cries, angry shouts and, snore
mystifying than all, horrified looks and whispers.

"What has happened?" asked Lorry, stopping near the door.

"It can't be a fire.  Look!  The door to that room down there
seems to be the center of attraction.  Hold on!  Don't go over
there, Lorry.  There may be something to unnerve you, and that
must not happen now.  Let us go down this stairway--it leads to a
side entrance, I think.  "They were half way down the stairs when
the thunder of rushing feet in the hall above came to their ears,
causing them to hesitate between curiosity and good judgment.
"They are coming this way."

"Hear them howl!  What the devil can be the cause of all this
rumpus?" cried the other.

At that instant a half dozen police-guards appeared at the head
of the stairs.  Upon seeing the Americans they stopped and turned
as if to oppose a foe approaching from the opposite direction.
Baron Dangloss separated himself from the white coats above and
called to the men below.  In alarm they started for the street
door.  He was with them in an instant, his usually red face
changing from white to purple, his anxious eyes darting first
toward the group above and then toward .the bewildered Americans.

"What's the matter?" demanded Lorry.

"There!  See!" cried Dangloss, and even as he spoke a conflict
began at the head of the stairs, the police, augmented by a few
soldiers, struggling against a howling, enraged mass of
Axphainians.  Dangloss dragged his reluctant charges through a
small door, and they found themselves in the baggage-room of the
hotel.  Despite their queries he offered no explanation, but
rushed them along, passing out of the opposite door, down a short
stairway and into a side street.  A half dozen police-guards were
awaiting them, and before they could catch the faintest idea of
what it all meant, they were running with the officers through an
alley, as if pursued by demons.

"Now, what in thunder does this mean?" panted Lorry, attempting
to slacken the pace.  He and Anguish were just beginning to
regain their senses.

"Do not stop!  Do not stop!" wheezed Dangloss.  "You must get to
a place of safety.  We cannot prevent something dreadful
happening if you are caught!"

"If we are caught!" cried Anguish.  "Why, what have we done?"

"Unhand me, Baron Dangloss!  This is an outrage!" shouted Lorry.

"For God's sake, be calm!  We are befriending you.  When we reach
the Tower, where you will be safe, I shall explain," gasped the
panting Chief of Police.  A few moments later they were inside
the prison gates, angry, impatient, fatigued.

"Is this a plan to prevent the duel?" demanded Lorry, turning
upon the chief, who had dropped limply into a chair and was
mopping his brow.  When he could find his breath enough to
answer, Dangloss did so, and he might as well have thrown a
bombshell at their feet.

"There'll be no duel.  Prince Lorenz is dead!"

"Dead!" gasped the others.

"Found dead in his bed, stabbed to the heart!" exclaimed the
Chief.

"We have saved you from his friends, gentlemen, but I must say
that you are still in a tight place."

He then related to them the whole story.  Just before six o'clock
Mizrox had gone to the Prince's room to prepare him for the duel.
The door was closed but unlocked, as he found after repeated
knockings.  Lorenz was lying on the bed, undressed and covered
with blood.  The horrified duke made a hasty examination and
found that he was dead.  A dagger had been driven to his heart as
he slept.  The hotel was aroused, the police called, and the
excitement was at its highest pitch when the two friends came
from their room a few minutes after six.

"But what have we to do with this dreadful affair?  Why are we
rushed off here like criminals?" asked Lorry, a feeling of cruel
gladness growing out of the knowledge that Lorenz was dead and
that the Princess was freed from her compact.

"My friend," said Dangloss, slowly, "yon are accused of the
murder."

Lorry was too much stunned to be angry, too weak to protest.  For
some moments after the blow fell he and Anguish were speechless.
Then came the protestations, the rage and the threats, through
all of which Dangloss sat calmly.  Finally he sought to quiet
them, partially succeeding.

"Mr. Lorry, the evidence is very strong against you, but you
shall not be unjustly treated.  You are not a prisoner as yet.
In Graustark a man who is accused of murder, and who was not seen
by any one to commit the crime, cannot be legally arrested until
an accuser shall go before the Princess, who is also High
Priestess, and swear on his life that he knows the guilty man.
The man who so accuses agrees to forfeit his own life in case the
other is proved innocent.  If you are to be charged with the
murder of the Prince, some one must go before the Princess and
take oath--his life against yours.  I am holding you here, sir,
because it is the only place in which you are safe.  Lorenz's
friends would have torn you to pieces had we not found you first.
You are not prisoners, and you may depart if you think it wise."

"But, my God, how can they accuse me?  I knew nothing of the
murder until I reached this place," cried Lorry, stopping short
in his restless walk before the little Baron.

"So you say, but--"

"If you accuse me, damn you, I'll kill you!" whispered Lorry,
holding himself tense.  Anguish caught and held him.

"Be calm, sir," cautioned Dangloss. "I may have my views, but I
am not willing to take oath before Her Royal Highness.  Listen
You were heard to say you would kill him; you began the fight;
you were the aggressor, and there is no one else on earth, it is
said, who could have wished to murder him.  The man who did the
stabbing entered the room through the hall door and left by the
same.  There are drops of blood in the carpet, leading direct to
your door.  On your knob are the prints of bloody fingers where
you--or some one else--placed his hand in opening the door.  It
was this discovery, made by me and my men, that fully convinced
the enraged friends of the dead Prince that you were guilty.
When we opened the door you were gone.  Then came the search, the
fight at the head of the stairs, and the race to the prison.  The
reason I saved you from that mob should be plain to you.  I love
my Princess, and I do not forget that you risked your life--each
of you--to protect her.  I have done all that I can, gentlemen,
to protect you in return.  It means death to you if you fall into
the hands of his followers just now.  A few hours will cool them
off, no doubt, but now--now it would be madness to face them.  I
know not what they have done to my men at the hotel--perhaps
butchered them."

There was anxiety in Dangloss's voice and there was honesty in
his keen old eyes.  His charges now saw the situation clearly and
apologized warmly for the words they had uttered under the
pressure of somewhat extenuating circumstances.  They expressed a
willingness to remain in the prison until the excitement abated
or until some one swore his life against the supposed murderer.
They were virtually prisoners, and they knew it well.
Furthermore, they could see that Baron Dangloss believed Lorry
guilty of the murder; protestations of innocence had been
politely received and politely disregarded.

"Do you expect one of his friends to take the oath?" asked Lorry.

"Yes; it is sure to come."

"But you will not do so yourself?"

"No."

"I thank you, captain, for I see that you believe me guilty."

"I do not say you are guilty, remember, but I will say that if
you did murder Prince Lorenz you have made the people of
Graustark rejoice from the bottoms of their hearts, and you will
be eulogized from one end of the land to the other."

"Hanged and eulogized," said Lorry, grimly.




XVII

IN THE TOWER


The two captives who were not prisoners were so dazed by the
unexpected events of the morning that they did not realize the
vast seriousness of the situation for hours.  Then it dawned upon
them that appearances were really against them, and that they
were alone in a land far beyond the reach of help from home.  One
circumstance puzzled them with its damning mystery: how came
the blood stains upon the door-knob?  Dangloss courteously
discussed this strange and unfortunate feature with them, but with
ill-concealed skepticism.  It was evident that his mind was clear in
regard to the whole affair.

Anguish was of the opinion that the real murderer had stained the
knob intentionally, aiming to cast suspicion on the man who had
been challenged.  The assassin had an object in leaving those
convicting finger-marks where they would do the most damage.  He
either desired the arrest and death of the American or hoped that
his own guilt would escape attention through the misleading
evidence.  Lorry held, from his deductions, that the crime had
been committed by a fanatic who loved his sovereign too devotedly
to see her wedded to Lorenz.  Then why should he wantonly cast
guilt upon the man who had been her protector, objected Dangloss.

The police guards came in from the hotel about ten o'clock,
bearing marks of an ugly conflict with the Axphainians.  They
reported that the avengers had been quelled for the time being,
but that a deputation had already started for the castle to lay
the matter before the Princess.  Officers had searched the rooms
of the Americans for blood stains, but had found no sign of them.

"Did you find bloody water in which hands had been washed?" asked
Anguish.

"No," responded one of the guards.  "There was nothing to be
found in the bowls and jars except soapy water.  There is not a
blood stain in the room, Captain."

"That shakes your theory a little, eh?" cried Anguish,
triumphantly.  "Examine Mr. Lorry's hands and see if there is
blood upon them."  Lorry's hands were white and uncontaminated.
Dangloss wore a pucker on his blow.

Shortly afterward a crowd of Axphain men came to the prison gates
and demanded the person of Grenfall Lorry, departing after an
ugly show of rage.  Curious Edelweiss citizens stood afar off,
watching the walls and windows eagerly.

"This may cost Edelweiss a great deal of trouble, gentlemen, but
there is more happiness here this morning than the city has known
in months.  Everybody believes you killed him, Mr. Lorry, but
they all love you for the deed," said Dangloss, returning at noon
from a visit to the hotel and a ride through the streets.  "The
Prince's friends have been at the castle since nine o'clock, and
I am of the opinion that they are having a hard time with the
High Priestess."

"God bless her!" cried Lorry.

"The town is crazy with excitement.  Messengers have been sent to
old Prince Bolaroz to inform him of the murder and to urge him to
hasten hither, where he may fully enjoy the vengeance that is to
be wreaked upon his son's slayer.  I have not seen a wilder time
in Edelweiss since the close of the siege, fifteen years ago.  By
my soul, you are in a bad box, sir.  They are lurking in every
part of town to kill you if you attempt to leave the Tower before
the Princess signs an order to restrain you legally.  Your life,
outside these walls, would not be worth a snap of the fingers."

Captain Quinnox, of the Princess's bodyguard, accompanied by a
half dozen of his men, rode up to the prison gates about two
o'clock and was promptly admitted.  The young captain was in sore
distress.

"The Duke of Mizrox has sworn that you are the murderer, Mr.
Lorry, and stakes his life," said he, after greetings.  "Her
highness has just placed in my hands an order for your arrest as
the assassin of Prince Lorenz."

Lorry turned as pale as death.  "You--you don't mean to say that
she has signed a warrant--that she believes me guilty," he cried,
aghast.

"She has signed the warrant, but very much against her
inclination.  Count Halfont informed me that she pleaded and
argued with the Duke for hours, seeking to avert the act which is
bound to give pain to all of us.  He was obdurate, and threatened
to carry complaint to Bolaroz, who would instantly demand
satisfaction.  As the Duke is willing to die if you are proved
innocent, there was no other course left for her than to dictate
and sign this royal decree.  Captain Dangloss, I am instructed to
give you these papers.  One is the warrant for Mr. Lorry's
arrest, the other orders you to assume charge of him and to place
him in confinement until the day of trial."

While Quinnox was making this statement the accused stood with
bowed head and throbless heart.  He did not see the captain's
hand tremble as he passed the documents to Dangloss, nor did he
hear the unhappy sigh that came from the latter's lips.  Anguish,
fiery and impulsive, was not to be subdued.

"Is there no warrant for my arrest?" he demanded.

"There is not.  You are at liberty to go, sir," responded
Quinnox.

"I'd like to know why there isn't.  I am just as guilty as
Lorry."

"The Duke charges the crime to but one of you.  Baron Dangloss,
will you read the warrant?"

The old chief read the decree of the Princess slowly and
impressively.  It was as follows:

"Jacot, Duke of Mizrox, before his God and on his life, swears
that Grenfall Lorry did foully, maliciously and designedly slay
Lorenz, Prince of Axphain, on the 20th day of October, in the
year of our Lord 189-, and in the city of Edelweiss, Graustark.
It is therefore my decree that Grenfall Lorry be declared
murderer of Lorenz, Prince of Axphain, until he be proved
innocent, in which instance, his accuser, Jacot, Duke of Mizrox,
shall forfeit his life, according to the law of this land
providing penalty for false witness, and by which he, himself,
has sworn to abide faithfully.

"Signed: Yetive."

There was silence for some moments, broken by the dreary tones of
the accused.

"What chance have I to prove my innocence?" he asked, hopelessly.

"The same opportunity that he has to prove your guilt.  The Duke
must, according to our law, prove you guilty beyond all doubt,"
spoke the young captain.

"When am I to be tried?"

"Here is my order from the Princess," said Dangloss, glancing
over the other paper.  "It says that I am to confine you securely
and to produce you before the tribunal on the 26th day of
October."

"A week!  That is a long time," said Lorry.  "May I have
permission to see the signature affixed to those papers?"
Dangloss handed them to him.  He glanced at the name he loved,
written by the hand he had kissed, now signing away his life,
perhaps.  A mist came over his eyes and a strange joy filled his
soul.  The hand that signed the name had trembled in doing so,
had trembled pitifully.  The heart had not guided the fingers.
"I am your prisoner, Captain Dangloss.  Do with me as you will,"
he said, simply.

"I regret that I am obliged to place you in a cell, sir, and
under guard.  Believe me, I am sorry this happened.  I am your
friend," said the old man, gloomily.

"And I," cried Quinnox.

"But what is to become of me?" cried poor Anguish, half in tears.
"I won't leave you, Gren.  It's an infernal outrage!"

"Be cool, Harry, and it will come out right.  He has no proof,
you know," said the other, wringing his friend's hand.

"But I'll have to stay here, too.  If I go outside these walls,
I'll be killed like a dog," protested Harry.

"You are to have a guard of six men while you are in Edelweiss,
Mr. Anguish.  Those are the instructions of the Princess.  I do
not believe the scoundrels--I mean the Axphain nobles--will
molest you if you do not cross them, When you are ready to go to
your hotel, I will accompany you."

Half an hour later Larry was in a cell from which there could be
no escape, while Anguish was riding toward the hotel, surrounded
by Graustark soldiers.  He had sworn to his friend that he would
unearth the murderer if it lay within the power of man.  Captain
Dangloss heard the oath and smiled sadly.

At the castle there was depression and relief, grief and joy.
The royal family, the nobility, even the servants, soldiers and
attendants, rejoiced in the stroke that had saved the Princess
from a fate worse than death.  Her preserver's misfortune was
deplored deeply; expressions of sympathy were whispered among
them all, high and low.  The Axphainians were detested--the
Prince most of all--and the crime had come as a joy instead of a
shock.  There were, of course, serious complications for the
future, involving ugly conditions that were bound to force
themselves upon the land.  The dead man's father would demand the
life of his murderer.  If not Lorry, who?  Graustark would
certainly be asked to produce the man who killed the heir to the
throne of Axphain, or to make reparation--bloody reparation, no
doubt.

In the privacy of her room the stricken Princess collapsed from
the effects of the ordeal.  Her poor brain had striven in vain to
invent means by which she might save the man she loved.  She had
surrendered to the inevitable because there was justice in the
claims of the inexorable Duke and his vindictive friends.
Against her will she had issued the decree, but not, however,
until she had learned that he was in prison and unable to fly the
country.  The hope that delay might aid him in escaping was
rudely crushed when her uncle informed her of Lorry's
whereabouts.  She signed the decree as if in a dream, a
nightmare, with trembling hand and broken heart.  His death
warrant!  And yet, like all others, she believed him guilty.
Guilty for her sake!  And this was how she rewarded him.

Mizrox and his friends departed in triumph, revenge written on
every face.  She walked blindly, numbly to her room, assisted by
her uncle, the Count.  Without observing her aunt or the Countess
Dagmar, she staggered to the window and looked below.  The
Axphainians were crossing the parade ground jubilantly.  Then
came the clatter of a horse's hoof and Captain Quinnox, with the
fatal papers in his possession, galloped down the avenue.  She
clutched the curtains distractedly, and, leaning far forward,
cried from the open window:

"Quinnox!  Quinnox!  Come back!  I forbid--I forbid!  Destroy
those papers!  Quinnox!'"

But Quinnox heard not the pitiful wail.  He rode on, his dark
face stamped with pity for the man whose arrest he was to make.
Had he heard that cry from his sovereign the papers would have
been in her destroying grasp with the speed that comes only to
the winged birds.  Seeing him disappear down the avenue, she
threw her hands to her head and sank back with a moan, fainting.
Count Halfont caught her in his arms.  It was nightfall before
she was fully revived.  The faithful young Countess clung to her
caressingly, lovingly, uttering words of consolation until long
after the shades of night had dropped.  They were alone in the
Princess's boudoir, seated together upon the divan, the tired
head of the one resting wearily against the shoulder of the
other.  Gentle fingers toyed with the tawny tresses, and a soft
voice lulled with its consoling promises of hope.  Wide and dark
and troubled were the eyes of the ruler of Graustark.

An attendant appeared and announced the arrival of one of the
American gentlemen, who insisted on seeing Her Royal Highness.
The card on the tray bore the name of Harry Anguish.  At once
the Princess was aflutter with eagerness and excitement.

"Anguish!  Show him to this room quickly!  Oh, Dagmar, he brings
word from him!  He comes from him!  Why is he so slow?  Ach, I
cannot wait!"

Far from being slow, Anguish was exceedingly swift in approaching
the room to which he feared admittance might be denied.  He
strode boldly, impetuously into the apartment, his feet muddy,
his clothing splashed with rain, his appearance far from that of
a gentleman.

"Tell me!  What is it?" she cried, as he stopped in the center of
the room and glared at her.

"I don't care whether you like it and it doesn't matter if you
are a Princess," he exploded, "there are a few things I'm going
to say to you.  First, I want to know what kind of a woman you
are to throw into prison a man like--like Oh, it drives me crazy
to think of it!  I don't care if you are insulted.  He's a friend
of mine and he is no more guilty than you are, and I want to know
what you mean by ordering his arrest?"

Her lips parted as if to speak, her face grew deathly pale, her
fingers clutched the edge o' the divan.  She stared at him
piteously, unable to move, to speak.  Then the blue eyes filled
with tears, a sob came to her lips, and her tortured heart made a
last, brave effort at defense.

"I--I--Mr. Anguish, you wrong me,--I--I--"  She tried to whisper
through the closed throat and stiffened lips.  Words failed her,
but she pleaded with those wet, imploring eyes.  His heart
melted, his anger was swept away in a twinkling.  He saw that he
had wounded her most unjustly.

"You brute!" hissed the Countess, with flashing, indignant eyes,
throwing her arms about the Princess and drawing her head to her
breast.

"Forgive me," he cried, sinking to his knee before the Princess,
shame and contrition in his face.  "I have been half mad this
whole day, and I have thought harshly of you.  I now see that you
are suffering more intensely than I.  I love Lorry, and that is
my only excuse.  He is being foully wronged, your Highness,
foully wronged."

"I deserve your contempt, after all.  Whether he be guilty or
innocent, I should have refused to sign the decree.  It is too
late now.  I have signed away something that is very dear to me,
--his life.  You are his friend and mine.  Can you tell me what he
thinks of me--what he says--how he feels?"  She asked the triple
question breathlessly.

"He believes you were forced into the act and said as much to me.
As to how he feels, I can only ask how you would feel if you were
in his place, innocent and yet almost sure of conviction.  These
friends of Axphain will resort to any subterfuge, now that one of
their number has staked his life.  Mark my word, some one will
deliberately swear that he saw Grenfall Lorry strike the blow and
that will be as villainous a lie as man ever told.  What I am
here for, your Highness, is to ask if that decree cannot be
withdrawn."

"Alas, it cannot!  I would gladly order his release if I could,
but you can see what that would mean to us.  A war, Mr. Anguish,"
she sighed miserably.

"But you will not see an innocent man condemned?" cried he, again
indignant.

"I have only your statement for that, sir, if you will pardon me.
I hope, from the bottom of my heart, that he did not murder the
Prince after being honorably challenged."

"He is no coward!" thundered Anguish; startling both women with
his vehemence.  "I say he did not kill the Prince, but I'll stake
my life he would have done so had they met this morning.  There's
no use trying to have the decree rescinded, I see, so I'll take
my departure.  I don't blame you, your Highness; it is your duty,
of course.  But it's pretty hard on Lorry, that's all."

"He may be able to clear himself," suggested the Countess,
nervously.

"And he may not, so there you have it.  What chance have two
Americans over here with everybody against us?"

"Stop!  You shall not say that!  He shall have full justice, at
any cost, and there is one here who is not against him," cried
the Princess, with flashing eyes.

"I am aware that everybody admires him because he has done
Graustark a service in ridding it of something obnoxious--a
prospective husband.  But that does not get him out of jail."

"You are unkind again," said the Princess, slowly.  "I chose my
husband, and you assume much when you intimate that I am glad
because he was murdered."

"Do not be angry," cried the Countess, impatiently.  "We all
regret what has happened, and I, for one, hope that Mr. Lorry may
escape from the Tower and laugh forevermore at his pursuers.  If
he could only dig his way out!"

The Princess shot a startled look toward the speaker as a new
thought entered her wearied brain; a short, involuntary gasp told
that it had lodged and would grow.  She laughed at the idea of an
escape from the Tower, but as she laughed a tiny spot of red
began to spread upon her cheek, and her eyes glistened strangely.

Anguish remained with them for half an hour.  When he left the
castle it was with a more hopeful feeling in his breast.  In the
Princess's bed-chamber late that night, two girls, in loose,
silken gowns sat before a low fire and talked of something that
caused the Countess to tremble with excitement when first her
pink-cheeked sovereign mentioned it in confidence.




XVIII

THE FLIGHT AT MIDNIGHT


Lorry's cell was as comfortable as a cell could be made through
the efforts of a kindly jailer and a sympathetic chief of police.
It was not located in the dungeon, but high in the tower, a
little rock-bound room, with a single barred window far above the
floor.  There was a bed of iron upon which had been placed a
clean mattress, and there was a little chair.  The next day after
his arrest a comfortable arm chair replaced the latter; a table,
a lamp, some books, flowers, a bottle of wine and some fruit
found their way to his lonely apartment--whoever may have sent
them.  Harry Anguish was admitted to the cell during the
afternoon.  He promptly and truthfully denied all interest in the
donations, but smiled wisely.

He reported that most of the Axphain contingent was still in
town; a portion had hurried home, carrying the news to the old
Prince, instructed by the aggressive Mizrox to fetch him
forthwith to Edelweiss, where his august presence was necessary
before the twenty-sixth.  Those who remained in the Graustark
capital were quiet but still in a threatening mood.  The
Princess, so Harry informed the prisoner, sent sincere
expressions of sympathy and the hope that all would end well with
him.  Count Halfont, the Countess, Gaspon and many others had
asked to be remembered.  The prisoner smiled wearily and promised
that they should not be forgotten in a week--which was as far as
he expected his memory to extend.

Late in the evening, as he was lying on his bed, staring at the
shadowy ceiling and puzzling his brain with most oppressive
uncertainties, the rattle of keys in the lock announced the
approach of visitors.  The door swung open and through the grate
he saw Dangloss and Quinnox.  The latter wore a long military
rain coat and had just come in from a drenching downpour.
Lorry's reverie had been so deep that he had not heard the
thunder nor the howling of the winds.  Springing to his feet he
advanced quickly to the grated door.

"Captain Quinnox brings a private message from the Princess,"
said the Chief, the words scarcely more than whispered.  It was
plain that the message was important and of a secret nature.
Quinnox looked up and down the corridor and stairway before
thrusting the tiny note through the bars.  It was grasped eagerly
and trembling fingers broke the seal.  Bending near the light he
read the lines, his vision blurred, his heart throbbing so fiercely
that the blood seemed to be drowning out other sounds for all time
to come.  In the dim corridor stood the two men, watching him with
bated breath and guilty, quaking nerves.

"Oh!" gasped Lorry, kissing the missive insanely as his greedy
eyes careened through the last line.  There was no signature, but
in every word he saw her face, felt the touch of her dear hand,
heard her timid heart beating for him-for him alone.  Rapture
thrilled him from head to foot, the delirious rapture of love.
He could not speak, so overpowering was the joy, the surprise,
the awakening.

"Obey!" whispered Quinnox, his face aglow with pleasure, his
finger quivering as he pointed commandingly toward the letter.

"Obey what!" asked Lorry, dully.

"The last line!"

He hastily reread the last line and then deliberately held the
precious missive over the lamp until it ignited.  He would have
given all he possessed to have preserved it.  But the last line
commanded: "Burn this at once and in the presence of the bearer."

"There!" he said, regretfully, as he crumpled the charred
remnants between his fingers and turned to the silent watchers.

"Her crime goes up in smoke," muttered Dangloss, sententiously.

"The Princess commits no crime," retorted Quinnox, angrily, "when
she trusts four honest men."

"Where is she?" whispered the prisoner, with thrumming ears.

"Where all good women should be at nine o'clock--in bed," replied
Dangloss, shortly.  "But will you obey her command?"

"So she commands me to escape!" said Lorry, smiling.  "I dare not
disobey my sovereign, I suppose."

"We obey her because we love her," said the captain of the guard.

"And for that reason, I also obey.  But can this thing be
accomplished without necessitating explanations and possible
complications?  I will not obey if it is likely to place her in
an embarrassing position."

"She understands perfectly what she is doing, sir.  In the first
place, she has had my advice," said Dangloss, the good old
betrayer of an official trust.

"You advised her to command you to allow me to escape?"

"She commanded first, and then I advised her how to command you.
Axphain may declare war a thousand times over, but you will be
safe.  That's all we--I mean, all she wants."

"But I cannot desert my friend.  How is he to know where I've
gone?  Will not vengeance fall on him instead?"

"He shall know everything when the proper time comes.  And now,
will you be ready at the hour mentioned.  You have but to follow
the instructions--I should say, the commands of the writer."

"And be free!  Tell her that I worship her for this.  Tell her
that every drop of blood in my body belongs to her.  She offers
me freedom, but makes me her slave for life.  Yes, I shall be
ready.  If I do not see you again, good friends, remember that I
love you because you love her and because she loves you enough to
entrust a most dangerous secret to your keeping,--the commission
of an act that may mean the downfall of your nation."  He shook
hands with them fervently.

"It cannot be that, sir.  It may cost the lives of three of her
subjects, but no man save yourself can involve the Princess or
the Crown.  They may kill us, but they cannot force us to betray
her.  I trust you will be as loyal to the good girl who wears a
crown, not upon her heart," said Dangloss, earnestly.

"I have said my life is hers, gentlemen," said Lorry, simply.
"God, if I could but throw myself at her feet!  I must see her
before I go.  I will not go without telling her what is in my
heart!" he added, passionately.

"You must obey the commands implicitly, on your word of honor, or
the transaction ends now," said Quinnox, firmly.

"This escape means, then, that I am not to see her again," he
said, his voice choking with emotion.

"Her instructions are that you are to go tonight, at once," said
Dangloss, and the black-eyed soldier nodded confirmation.

The prisoner paced the floor of his cell, his mind a jumble of
conflicting emotions.  His clenched hands, twitching lips and
half-closed eyes betrayed the battle that was inflicting him with
its carnage.  Suddenly he darted to the door, crying:

"Then I refuse to obey!  Tell her that if she permits me to leave
this hole I shall be at her feet before another night has passed.
Say to her that I refuse to go from Graustark until I have seen
her and talked with her.  You, Quinnox, go to her now and tell
her this, and say to her also that there is something she must
hear from my own lips.  Then I will leave Graustark and not till
then, even though death be the alternative."  The two men stared
at him in amazement and consternation.

"You will not escape?" gasped Quinnox.

"I will not be dragged away without seeing her," he answered,
resolutely, throwing himself on the bed.

"Damned young ass!" growled Dangloss.  The soldier's teeth
grated.  A moment later the slab door closed softly, a key
rattled, and his visitors were gone--messengers bearing to him
the most positive proof of devotion that man could exact.  What
had she offered to do for his sake?  She had planned his escape,
had sanctioned the commission of an unparalleled outrage against
the laws of her land--she, of all women, a Princess!  But she
also had sought to banish him from the shrine at which his very
soul worshiped, a fate more cruel and unendurable than the one
she would have saved him from.

He looked at his hands and saw the black stains from the charred
letter, last evidence of the crime against the state.  A tender
light came to his eyes, a great lump struggled to his throat, and
he kissed the sooty spots, murmuring her name again and again.
How lonely he was! how cold and cheerless his cage!  For the
first time he began to appreciate the real seriousness of his
position.  Up to this time he had regarded it optimistically,
confident of vindication and acquittal.  His only objection to
imprisonment grew out of annoyance and the mere deprivation of
liberty.  It had not entered his head that he was actually facing
death at close range.  Of course, it had been plain to him that
the charges were serious, and that he was awkwardly situated, but
the true enormity of his peril did not dawn upon him until
freedom was offered in such a remarkable manner.  He grew cold and
shuddered instinctively as he realized that his position was so
critical that the princess had deemed it necessary to resort to
strategic measures in order to save him from impending doom.
Starting to his feet he paced the floor, nervousness turning to
dread, dread to terror.  He pounded on the door and cried aloud.
Oh, if he could but bring back those kindly messengers!

Exhausted, torn by conflicting emotions, he at last dropped to
the bed and buried his face in his arms, nearly mad with the
sudden solitude of despair.  He recalled her dear letter--the
tender, helping hand that had been stretched out to lift him from
the depths into which he was sinking.  She had written--he could
see the words plainly--that his danger was great; she could not
endure life until she knew him to be safely outside the bounds of
Graustark.  His life was dear to her, and she would preserve it
by dishonoring her trust.  Then she had unfolded her plan of
escape, disjointedly, guiltily, hopelessly.  In one place near
the end, she wrote: "You have done much more for me than you
know, so I pray that God may be good enough to let me repay you
so far as it lies within my power to do so."  In another place
she said: "You may trust my accomplices, for they love me, too."
An admission unconsciously made, that word "too."

But she was offering him freedom only to send him away without
granting one moment of joy in her presence.  After all, with
death staring him in the face, the practically convicted murderer
of a prince, he knew he could not have gone without seeing her.
He had been ungrateful, perhaps, but the message he had sent to
her was from his heart, and something told him that it would give
her pleasure.

A key turned suddenly in the lock, and his heart bounded with the
hope that it might be some one with her surrender in response to
his ultimatum.  He sat upright and rubbed his swollen eyes.  The
door swung open, and a tall prison guard peered in upon him, a
sharpeyed, low-browed fellow in rain coat and helmet.  His
lantern's single unkind eye was turned menacingly toward the bed.

"What do you want?" demanded the prisoner, irritably.

Instead of answering, the guard proceeded to unlock the second or
grated door, stepping inside the cell a moment later.  Smothering
an exclamation, Lorry jerked out his watch and then sprang to his
feet, intensely excited.  It was just twelve o'clock, and he
remembered now that she had said a guard would come to him at
that hour.  Was this the man?  Was the plan to be carried out?

The two men stood staring at each other for a moment or two, one
in the agony of doubt and suspense, the other quizzically.  A
smile flitted over the face of the guard; he calmly advanced to
the table, putting down his lantern.  Then he drew off his rain
coat and helmet and placed in the other's hand a gray envelope.
Lorry reeled and would have fallen but for the wall against which
he staggered.  A note from her was in his hand.  He tore open the
envelope and drew forth the letter.  As he read he grew strangely
calm and contented; a blissful repose rushed in to supplant the
racking unrest of a moment before; the shadows fled and life's
light was burning brightly once more.  She had written:

"I entreat you to follow instructions and go to-night.  You say
you will not leave Graustark until you have seen me.  How rash
you are to refuse liberty and life for such a trifle.  But why, I
ask, am I offering you this chance to escape?  Is it because I do
not hope to see you again?  Is it not enough that I am begging,
imploring you to go?  I can say no more."

He folded the brief note, written in agitation, and, after
kissing it, proceeded to place it in his pocket, determined to
keep it to the last hour of his life.  Glancing up at a sound
from the guard, he found himself looking into the muzzle of a
revolver.  A deep scowl overspread the face of the man as he
pointed to the letter and then to the lamp.  There was no
mistaking his meaning.  Lorry reluctantly held the note over the
flame and saw it crumble away as had its predecessor.  There was
to be no proof of her complicity left behind.  He knew it would
be folly to offer a bribe to the loyal guard.

After this very significant act the guard's face cleared, and he
deposited his big revolver on the table.  Stepping to the cell's
entrance he listened intently, then softly closed the heavy iron
doors.  Without a word he began to strip off his uniform, Lorry
watching him as if fascinated.  The fellow looked up impatiently
and motioned for him to be quick, taking it for granted that the
prisoner understood his part of the transaction.  Awakened by
this sharp reminder, Lorry nervously began to remove his own
clothes.  In five minutes his garments were scattered over the
floor and he was attired in the uniform of a guard.  Not a word
had been spoken.  The prisoner was the guard, the guard a
prisoner.

"Are you not afraid this will cost you your life?" asked Lorry,
first in English, then in German.  The guard merely shook his
head, indicating that he could not understand.

He quickly turned to the bed, seized a sheet and tore it into
strips, impatiently thrusting them into the other's hands.  The
first letter had foretold all this, and the prisoner knew what
was expected of him.  He therefore securely bound the guard's
legs and arms.  With a grim smile the captive nodded his head
toward the revolver, the lantern and the keys.  His obliging
prisoner secured them, as well as his own personal effects, and
was ready to depart.  According to instructions he was to go
forth, locking the doors behind him, leaving the man to be
discovered the next morning by surprised keepers.  It struck him
that there was something absurd in this part of the plan.  How
was this guard to explain his position with absolutely no sign of
a struggle to bear him out?  It was hardly plausible that a big,
strong fellow could be so easily overpowered single-handed;
there was something wretchedly incongruous about the--but there
came a startling and effective end to all criticism.

The guard, bound as he was, suddenly turned and lunged
head-foremost against the sharp bedpost.  His head struck with a
thud, and he rolled to the floor as if dead.  Uttering an exclamation
of horror, Lorry ran to his side.  Blood was gushing from a long
gash across his head, and he was already unconscious.  Sickened
by the brave sacrifice, he picked the man up and placed him on
the bed.

A hasty examination proved that it was no more than a scalp
wound, and that death was too remote to be feared.  The guard had
done his part nobly, and it was now the prisoner's turn to act as
resolutely and as unflinchingly.  Sorry to leave the poor fellow
in what seemed an inhuman manner, he strode into the corridor,
closed and locked the doors clumsily, and began the descent of
the stairs.  He had been instructed to act unhesitatingly, as the
slightest show of nervousness would result in discovery.

With the helmet well down over his face and the cape well up, he
steadily, even noisily made his way to the next floor below.
There were prisoners on this floor, while he had been the only
occupant of the floor above.  Straight ahead he went, flashing
his lantern here and there, passing down another stairway and
into the main corridor.  Here he met a guard who had just come in
from the outside.  The man addressed him in the language of the
country, and his heart almost stopped beating.  How was he to
answer?  Mumbling something almost inaudible, he hurried on to
the ground floor, trembling with fear lest the man should call to
him to halt.  He was relieved to find, in the end, that his
progress was not to be impeded.  In another moment he was boldly
unlocking the door that led to the visitors' hall.  Then came the
door to the warden's office.  Here he found three sleepy guards,
none of whom paid any attention to him as he passed through and
entered Captain Dangloss' private room.  The gruff old Captain
sat at a desk, writing.  The escaping man half paused as if to
speak to him.  A sharp cough from the Captain and a significant
jerk of the head told him that there must be no delay, no words.
Opening the door he stepped out into a storm so fierce and wild
that he shuddered apprehensively.

"A fitting night!" he muttered, as he plunged into the driving
rain, forcing his way across the court-yard toward the main gate.
The little light in the gate-keeper's window was his guide, so,
blinded by the torrents, blown by the winds, he soon found
himself before the final barrier.  Peering through the window he
saw the keeper dozing in his chair.  By the light from within he
selected from the bunch of keys he carried one that had a white
string knotted in its ring.  This was the key that was to open
the big gate in case no one challenged him.  In any other case he
was to give the countersign, "Dangloss," and trust fortune to
pass him through without question.

Luck was with him, and, finding the great lock, he softly
inserted and turned the key.  The wind blew the heavy gate open
violently, and it required all of his strength to keep it from
banging against the wall beyond.  The most difficult task that he
had encountered grew from his efforts to close the gate against
the blast.  He was about to give up in despair when a hand was
laid on his shoulder and some one hissed in his startled ear:

"Sh!  Not a word!"

His legs almost went from under his body, so great was the shock
and the fear.  Two strong hands joined his own in the effort to
pull the door into position, and he knew at once that they
belonged to the man who was to meet him on the corner at the
right of the prison wall.  He undoubtedly had tired of the delay,
and, feeling secure in the darkness of the storm, had come to
meet his charge, the escaping prisoner.  Their united efforts
brought about the desired result, and together they left the
prison behind, striking out against the storm in all its fury.

"You are late," called the stranger in his ear.

"Not too late, am I?" he cried back, clutching the other's arm.

"No, but we must hasten."

"Captain Quinnox, is it you?"

"Have a care!  The storm has ears and can hear names," cautioned
the other.  As rapidly as possible they made their way along the
black street, almost a river with its sheet of water.  Lorry had
lost his bearings, and knew not whither he went, trusting to the
guidance of his struggling companion.  There seemed to be no end
to their journey, and he was growing weak beneath the exertion
and the excitement.

"How far do we go?" he cried, at last.

"But a few rods.  The carriage is at the next corner."

"Where is the carriage to take me?" he demanded.

"I am not at liberty to say."

"Am I to see her before I go?"

"That is something I cannot answer, sir.  My instructions are to
place you in the carriage and ride beside the driver until our
destination is reached."

"Is it the castle?" cried the other, joyously.

"It is not the castle," was the disappointing answer.

At that moment they came upon a great dark hulk and heard the
stamping of horses' hoofs close at hand.  It was so dark they
could scarcely discern the shape of the carriage, although they
could touch its side with their hands.

A soldier stood in the shelter of the vehicle and opened the
door for the American.

"Hurry!  Get in!" exclaimed Quinnox.

"I wish to know if this is liable to get her into trouble,"
demanded Lorry, pausing with one foot on the steps.

"Get in!" commanded the soldier who was holding the door,
pushing him forward uneasily.  He floundered into the carriage
where all was dry and clean.  In his hand he still carried the
keys and the lantern, the slide of which he had closed before
leaving the prison yard.  He could not see, but he knew that the
trappings of the vehicle were superior.  Outside he heard the
soldier, who was preparing to enter, say:

"This carriage travels on most urgent business for Her Royal
Highness, captain.  It is not to be stopped."

A moment later he was inside and the door slammed.  The carriage
rocked as Quinnox swung up beside the driver.

"You may as well be comfortable," said Lorry's companion, as he
sat rigid and restless.  "We have a long and rough ride before
us."




XIX

THE SOLDIER


Off went the carriage with a dash, the rumbles of its wheels
joining in the grewsome roar of the elements.  For some time the
two sat speechless, side by side.  Outside the thunder rolled,
the rain swirled and hissed, the wind howled and all the horrors
of nature seemed crowded into the blackness of that thrilling
night.  Lorry wondered vaguely whither they were going, why he
had seen no flashes of lightning, if he should ever see her
again.  His mind was busy with a thousand thoughts and queries.

"Where are we going?" he asked, after they had traveled half a
mile or so.

"To a place of safety," came the reply from the darkness beside
him.

"Thanks," he said, drily.  "By the way, don't you have any
lightning in this part of the world?  I haven't seen a flash
to-night."

"It is very rare," came the brief reply.

"Devilish uncommunicative," thought Lorry.

After a moment he asked: "How far do we travel tonight?"

"A number of miles."

"Then I'm going to take off this wet coat.  It weighs a ton.
Won't you remove yours?"  He jerked off the big rain coat and
threw it across to the opposite seat, with the keys and the
lantern.  There was a moment's hesitation on the part of his
companion, and then a second wet coat followed the first.  Their
rain helmets were also tossed aside.  "Makes a fellow feel more
comfortable."

"This has been too easy to seem like an escape," went on Lorry,
looking back reflectively over the surprises of the night.
"Maybe I am dreaming.  Pinch me."

A finger and a thumb came together on the fleshy part of his
arm, causing him to start, first in amazement, then in pain.  He
had not expected his reserved guardian to obey the command
literally.

"I am awake, thanks," he laughed, and the hand dropped from his
arm.

After this there was a longer silence than at any time before.
The soldier drew himself into the corner of the seat, an action
which repelled further discussion, it seemed to Lorry, so he
leaned back in the opposite corner and allowed his mind to
wander far from the interior of that black, stuffy carriage.
Where was he going?  When was he to leave Graustark?  Was he to
see her soon?

Soon the carriage left the smooth streets of Edelweiss and he
could tell, by the jolting and careening, that they were in the
country, racing over a rough, rocky road.  It reminded him of an
overland trip he had taken in West Virginia some months before,
with the fairest girl in all the world as his companion.  Now he
was riding in her carriage, but with a surly, untalkative
soldier of the guard.  The more he allowed his thoughts to revel
in the American ride and its delights, the more uncontrollable
became his desire to see the one who had whirled with him in
"Light-horse Jerry's" coach.

"I wish to know how soon I am to see your mistress," he
exclaimed, impulsively, sitting up and striking his companion's
arm byway of emphasis.  To his surprise the hand was dashed
away, and he distinctly heard the soldier gasp.  "I beg your
pardon!" he cried, fearing that he had given pain with his eager
strength.

"You startled me I was half asleep," stammered the other,
apologetically.  "Whom do you mean by my mistress?"

"Her Royal Highness, of course," said Lorry, impatiently.

"I cannot say when you are to see the Princess," said his
companion after waiting so long that Lorry felt like kicking
him.

"Well, see here, my friend, do you know why I agreed to leave
that place back there?  I said I wouldn't go away from Graustark
until I had seen her.  If you fellows are spiriting me away
--kidnapping me, as it were,--I want to tell you I won't have it
that way.  I must know, right now, where we are going in this
damnable storm."

"I have orders to tell you nothing," said the soldier,
staunchly.

"Orders, eh!  From whom?"

"That is my affair, sir!"

"I guess I'm about as much interested in this affair as anybody,
and I insist on knowing our destination.  I jumped into this
thing blindly, but I'm going to see my way out of it before we
go much farther.  Where are we going?"

"You--you will learn that soon enough," insisted the other.

"Am I to see her soon?  That's what I want to know."

"You must not insist," cried the soldier.

"Why are you so anxious to see her?" he asked, suddenly.

"Don't be so blamed inquisitive," cried Grenfall, angrily,
impatiently.  "Tell me where we are going or I'll put a bullet
into you!"  Drawing his revolver he leaned over, grasped the
guard by the shoulder and placed the muzzle against his breast.

"For God's sake, be calm!  You would not kill me for obeying
orders!  I am serving one you love.  Are you mad?  I shall
scream if you keep pressing that horrid thing against my side."
Lorry felt him tremble, and was at once filled with compunction.
How could he expect a loyal fellow to disobey orders?

"I beg your pardon a thousand times," he cried, jamming the
pistol into his pocket.  "You are a brave gentleman and I am a
fool.  Take me where you will; I'll go like a lamb.  You'll
admit, however, that it is exasperating to be going in the dark
like this."

"It is a very good thing that it is dark," said the soldier,
quickly.  "The darkness is very kind to us.  No one can see us
and we can see no one."

"I should say not.  I haven't the faintest idea what you look
like.  Have I seen you at the castle?"

"Yes, frequently."

"Will you tell me your name?"

"You would not know me by name."

"Are you an officer?"

"No; I am new to the service."

"Then I'll see that you are promoted.  I like your staunchness.
How old are you?"

"I am--er--twenty-two."

"Of the nobility?"

"My father was of noble birth."

"Then you must be so, too.  I hope you'll forgive my rudeness.
I'm a bit nervous, you know."

"I forgive you gladly."

"Devilish rough road, this."

"Devilish.  It is a mountain road."

"That's where we were, too."

"Where who were?"

"Oh, a young lady and I, some time ago.  I just happened to
think of it."

"It could not have been pleasant."

"You never made a bigger mistake in your life."

"Oh, she must have been pretty, then."

"You are right this time.  She is glorious."

"Pardon me!  They usually are in such adventures."

"By Jove, you're a clever one!"

"Does she live in America?"

"That's none of your affair."

"Oh!" and then there was silence between them.

"Inquisitive fool!" muttered Gren to him= self.

For some time they bumped along over the rough road, jostling
against each other frequently, both enduring stoically and
silently.  The rain was still falling, but the thunder storm had
lost its fury.  The crashing in the sky had abated, the winds
were not so fierce, the night was being shorn of its terrors.
Still the intense, almost suffocating darkness prevailed.  But
for the occasional touch neither could have told that there was
another person on the seat.  Suddenly Lorry remembered the
lantern.  It was still lit with the slide closed when he threw
it on the seat.  Perhaps it still burned and could relieve the
oppressive darkness if but for a short time.  He might, at
least, satisfy his curiosity and look upon the face of his
companion.  Leaning forward he fumbled among the traps on the
opposite seat.

"I think I'll see if the lantern is lighted.  Let's have it a
little more cheerful in here," he said.  There was a sharp
exclamation, and two vigorous hands grasped him by the shoulder,
jerking him back unceremoniously.

"No!  No!  You will ruin all!  There must be no light," cried
the soldier, his voice high and shrill.

"But we are out of the city."

"I know!  I know!  But I will not permit you to have a light.
Against orders.  We have not passed the outpost," expostulated
the other, nervously.

"What's the matter with your voice" demanded Lorry, struck by
the change in it.

"My voice?" asked the other, the tones natural again.  "It's
changing.  Didn't it embarrass you when your voice broke like
that?" went on the questioner, breathlessly.  Lorry was now
leaning back in the seat, quite a little mystified.

"I don't believe mine ever broke like that," he said,
speculatively.  There was no response, and he sat silent for
some time, regretting more and more that it was so dark.

Gradually he became conscious of a strange, unaccountable
presence in that dark cab.  He could feel a change coming over
him; he could not tell why, but he was sure that some one else
was beside him, some one who was not the soldier.  Something
soft and delicate and sweet came into existence, permeating the
darkness with its undeniable presence.  A queer power seemed
drawing him toward the other end of the seat.  The most delightful
sensations took possession of him; his heart fluttered oddly;
his head began to reel under the spell.

"Who are you?" he cried, in a sort of ecstacy.  There was no
answer.  He remembered his matchsafe, and with trembling, eager
fingers drew it from the pocket of the coat he was wearing.  The
next instant he was scratching a match, but as it flared the
body of his companion was hurled against his and a ruthless
mouth blew out the feeble blaze.

"Oh, why do you persist?" was cried in his ears.

"I am determined to see your face," he answered, sharply, and
with a little cry of dismay the other occupant of the carriage
fell back in the corner.  The next match drove away the darkness
and the mystery.  With blinking eyes he saw the timid soldier
huddling in the corner, one arm covering his face, the other
hand vainly striving to pull the skirt of a military coat over a
pair of red trouser-legs.  Below the arm that hid the eyes and
nose he saw parted lips and a beardless, dainty chin; above,
long, dark tresses strayed in condemning confusion.  The breast
beneath the blue coat heaved convulsively.

The match dropped from his fingers, and, as darkness fell again,
it hid the soldier in the strong arms of the fugitive--not a
soldier bold, but a gasping, blushing, unresisting coward.  The
lithe form quivered and then became motionless in the fierce,
straining embrace; the head dropped upon his shoulder, his hot
lips caressing the burning face and pouring wild, incoherent
words into the little ears.

"You!  You!" he cried, mad with joy.  "Oh, this is Heaven
itself!  My brave darling!  Mine forever--mine forever!  You
shall never leave me now!  Drive on!  Drive on!" he shouted to
the men outside, drunk with happiness.  "We'll make this journey
endless.  I know you love me now--I know it!  God, I shall die
with joy!"

A hand stole gently into his hand, and her lips found his in a
long, passionate kiss.

"I did not want you to know!  Ach, I am so sorry!  Why, why did
I come to-night?  I was so strong, so firm, I thought, but see
how weak I am.  You dominate,--you own me, body and soul, in
spite of everything,--against my will.  I Love you--I love you--I
love you!"

"I have won against the princes and the potentates!  I was
losing hope, my Queen, losing hope.  You were so far away, so
unattainable.  I would brave a thousand deaths rather than lose
this single minute of my life.  It makes me the richest man in
all the world.  How brave you are!  This night you have given up
everything for my sake.  You are fleeing with me, away from all
that has been dear to you."

"No, no.  You must not be deluded.  It is only for tonight, only
till you are safe from pursuit.  I shall go back.  You must not
hope for more than this hour of weakness, sweet as it is to me,"
she cried.

"You are going back and not with me?" he cried, his heart
chilling.

"You know I cannot.  That is why I hoped you would never know
how much I care for you.  Alas, you have found me out!  My love
was made rash by fear.  You could never have escaped the
vengeance of Axphain.  I could not have shielded you.  This was
the only course and I dared not hesitate.  I should have died
with terror had you gone to trial, knowing what I knew.  You
will not think me unwomanly for coming with you as I am.  It was
necessary--really it was!  No one else could have--"  But he
smothered the wail in kisses.

"Unwomanly!" he exclaimed.  "It was by divine inspiration.  But
you will come with me, away from Graustark, away from every one.
Say that you will!"

"I cannot bear to hear you plead, and it breaks my heart to go
back there.  But I cannot leave Graustark--I cannot!  It would
be Heaven to go with you to the end of the world, but I have
others besides myself to consider.  You are my god, my idol.  I
can worship you from my unhappy throne, from my chamber, from
the cell into which my heart is to retreat.  But I cannot, I
will not desert Graustark.  Not even for you!"

He was silent, impressed by her nobility, her loyalty.  Although
the joy ebbed from his craving heart, he saw the justice of her
self-sacrifice.

"I would give my soul to see your face now, Yetive.  Your soul
is in your eyes; I can feel it.  Why did you not let me stay in
prison, meet death and so end all?  It would have been better
for both of us.  I cannot live without you."

"We can live for each other, die for each other,--apart.
Distance will not lessen my love.  You know that it exists; it
has been betrayed to you.  Can you not be satisfied--just a
little bit--with that knowledge?" she pleaded.

"But I want you in reality, not in my dreams, my imagination."

"Ach, we must not talk like this!  There is no alternative.  You
are to go, I am to stay.  The future is before us; God knows
what it may bring to us.  Perhaps it may be good enough to give
us happiness--who knows?  Do not plead with me.  I cannot endure
it.  Let me be strong again!  You will not be so cruel as to
battle against me, now that I am weak; it would only mean my
destruction.  You do not seek that!"

His soul, his honor, the greatest reverence he had ever known
were in the kiss that touched her brow.

"I shall love you as you command--without hope," he said, sadly.

"Without hope for either," she sobbed.

"My poor little soldier," he whispered, lovingly, as her body
writhed under the storm of tears.

"I--I wish--I were a--soldier!" she wailed.  He comforted her as
best he could and soon she was quiet--oh, so very quiet.  Her
head was on his shoulder, her hands in his.

"How far do we drive?" he asked, at last.

"To the monastery.  We are nearly there." she answered, in tones
far away.

"The monastery?  Why do we go there?" he cried.

"You are to stay there."

"What do you mean?  I thought I was to leave Graustark."

"You are to leave--later on.  Until the excitement is over the
abbey is to be your hiding place.  I have arranged everything,
and it is the only safe place on earth for you at this time.  No
one will think of looking for you up there."

"I would to God I could stay there forever, living above you,"
he said, drearily.

"Your window looks down upon the castle; mine looks up to yours.
The lights that burn in those two windows will send out beams of
love and life for one of us, at least."

"For both of us, my sweetheart," he corrected, fondly.  "You say
I will be safe there.  Can you trust these men who are aiding
you?"

"With my life!  Quinnox carried a message to the Abbot
yesterday, and he grants you a temporary home there, secure and
as secret as the tomb.  He promises me this, and he is my best
friend.  Now, let me tell you why I am with you, masquerading so
shamefully--"

"Adorably!" he protested.

"It is because the Abbot insisted that I bring you to him
personally.  He will not receive you except from my hands.
There was nothing else for me to do, then, was there, Lorry?  I
was compelled to come and I could not come as the Princess--as a
woman.  Discovery would have meant degradation from which I
could not have hoped to recover.  The military garments were my
only safeguard."

"And how many people know of your--deception?"

"Three--besides yourself.  Dagmar, Quinnox and Captain Dangloss.
The Abbot will know later on, and I shiver as I think of it.
The driver and the man who went to your cell, Ogbot, know of the
escape, but do not know I am here.  Allode--you remember him--is
our driver."

"Allode?  He's the fellow who saw me--er--who was in the throne
room."

"He is the man who saw nothing, sir."

"I remember his obedience," he said, laughing in spite of his
unhappiness.  "Am I to have no freedom up here--no liberty, at
all?"

"You are to act as the Abbot or the prior instructs.  And, I
must not forget, Quinnox will visit you occasionally.  He will
conduct you from the monastery and to the border line at the
proper time."

"Alas!  He will be my murderer, I fear.  Yetive, you do not
believe I killed Lorenz.  I know that most of them do, but, I
swear to you, I am no more the perpetrator of that cowardly
crime than you.  God bears testimony to my innocence.  I want to
hear you say that you do not believe I killed him."

"I feared so at first,--no, do not be angry--I feared you had
killed him for my sake.  But now I am sure that you are
innocent."

The carriage stopped too soon and Quinnox opened the door.  It
was still as dark as pitch, but the downpour had ceased except
for a disagreeable, misty drizzle, cold and penetrating.

"We have reached the stopping place," he said.

"And we are to walk from here to the gate," said the Princess,
resuming her hoarse, manly tones.  While they were busy donning
their rain coats, she whispered in Lorry's ear: "I beg of you,
do not let him know that you have discovered who I am."

He promised, and lightly snatched a kiss, an act of indiscretion
that almost brought fatal results.  Forgetful of the darkness,
she gave vent to a little protesting shriek, fearing that the
eyes of the captain had witnessed the pretty transgression.
Lorry laughed as he sprang to the road and turned to assist her
in alighting.  She promptly and thoughtfully averted the danger
his gallantry presented by ignoring the outstretched hands,
discernible as slender shadows protruding from an object a shade
darker than the night, and leaped boldly to the ground.  The
driver was instructed to turn the carriage about and to await
their return.

With Lorry in the center the trio walked rapidly off in the
darkness, the fugitive with the sense of fear that belongs only
to a blind man.  A little light far ahead told the position of
the gate, and for this they bent their steps, Lorry and Quinnox
conversing in low tones, the Princess striding along silently
beside the former, her hand in his--a fact of which the real
soldier was totally unaware.  Reaching the gate, the captain
pounded vigorously, and a sleepy monk soon peered from the
little window through which shone the light.

"On important business with the Abbot, from Her Royal Highness,
the Princess Yetive," said Quinnox, in response to a sharp
query, spoken in the Graustark tongue.  A little gate beside the
big one opened and the monk, lantern in hand, bade them enter.

"Await me here, captain," commanded the slim, straight soldier,
with face turned from the light.  A moment later the gate closed
and Lorry was behind the walls of St. Valentine's, a prisoner
again.  The monk preceded them across the dark court toward the
great black mass, his lantern creating ghastly shadows against
the broken mist.  His followers dropped some little distance
behind, the tall one's arm stealing about the other's waist, his
head bending to a level with hers.

"Is it to be good-by, dearest?" he asked.  "Good-by forever?"

"I cannot say that.  It would be like wishing you dead.  Yet
there is no hope.  No, no!  We will not say good-by,--forever,"
she said, despairingly.

"Won't you bid me hope?"

"Impossible!  You will stay here until Quinnox comes to take you
away.  Then you must not stop until you are in your own land.
We may meet again."

"Yes, by my soul, we shall meet again!  I'll do as you bid and
all that, but I'll come back when I can stay away no longer.  Go
to your castle and look forward to the day that will find me at
your feet again.  It is bound to come.  But how are you to
return to the castle tonight and enter without creating
suspicion?  Have you thought of that?"

"Am I a child?  Inside of three hours I shall be safely in my
bed and but one person in the castle will be the wiser for my
absence.  Here are the portals."  They passed inside the massive
doors and halted.  "You must remain here until I have seen the
prior," she said, laughing nervously and glancing down at the
boots which showed beneath the long coat.  Then she hastily
followed the monk, disappearing down the corridor.  In ten
minutes--ten hours to Lorry--she returned with her guide.

"He will take you to your room," she said breathlessly,
displaying unmistakable signs of embarrassment.  "The prior was
shocked.  Good-by, and God be with you always.  Remember, I love
you!"

The monk's back was turned, so the new recluse snatched the
slight figure to his heart.

"Some day?" he whispered.

She would not speak, but he held leer until she nodded her head.




XX

THE APPROACHING ORDEAL


"The American has escaped!" was the cry that spread through
Edelweiss the next morning.

It brought undisguised relief to the faces of thousands; there
was not one who upbraided Baron Dangloss for his astounding
negligence.  Never before had a criminal escaped from the Tower.
The only excuse, uttered in woebegone tone, was that the prison
had not been constructed or manned for such clever scoundrels as
Yankees--good name for audacity.  But as nobody criticised, his
explanation was taken good-naturedly and there was secret
rejoicing in the city.  Of course, everybody wondered where the
prisoner had gone; most of them feared that he could not escape
the officers, while others shrewdly smiled and expressed
themselves as confident that so clever a gentleman could not be
caught.  They marveled at his boldness, his ingenuity, his
assurance.

The full story of the daring break for liberty flashed from lip
to lip during the day, and it was known all over the water-swept
city before noon.  Baron Dangloss, himself, had gone to the
prisoner's cell early in the morning, mystified by the continued
absence of the guard.  The door was locked, but from within came
groans and cries.  Alarmed at once, the Captain procured
duplicate keys and entered the cell.  There he found the
helpless, blood-covered Ogbot, bound hand and foot and almost
dead from loss of blood.  The clothes of the American were on
the floor, while his own were missing, gone with the prisoner.
Ogbot, as soon as he was able, related his experience of the
night before.  It was while making his rounds at midnight that
he heard moans from the cell.  Animated by a feeling of pity he
opened the slab door and asked if he were ill.  The wretched
American was lying on the bed, apparently suffering.  He said
something which the guard could not understand but which he took
to be a plea for assistance.  Not suspecting a trick, the kindly
guard unlocked the second door and stepped to the bedside, only
to have the sick man rise suddenly and deal him a treacherous
blow over the head with the heavy stool he had secreted behind
him.  Ogbot knew nothing of what followed, so effective was the
blow.  When he regained consciousness he was lying on the bed,
just as the Captain had found him.  The poor fellow, overwhelmed
by the enormity of his mistake, begged Dangloss to shoot him at
once.  But Dangloss had him conveyed to the hospital ward and
tenderly cared for.

Three guards in one of the offices saw a man whom they supposed
to be Ogbot pass from the prison shortly after twelve, and the
mortified Chief admitted that some one had gone through his
private apartment.  As the prisoner had taken Ogbot's keys he
experienced little difficulty in getting outside the gates.
But, vowed Dangloss stormily, he should be recaptured if it
required the efforts of all the policemen in Edelweiss.  With
this very brave declaration in mind he despatched men to search
every street and every alley, every cellar and every attic in
the city.  Messengers were sent to all towns in the district;
armed posses scoured the valley and the surrounding forests,
explored the caves and brush heaps for miles around.  The
chagrin of the grim old Captain, who had never lost a prisoner,
was pitiful to behold.

The forenoon was half over before Harry Anguish heard of his
friend's escape.  To say that he was paralyzed would be putting
it much too mildly.  There is no language that can adequately
describe his sensations.  Forgetting his bodyguard, he tore down
the street toward the prison, wild with anxiety and doubt.  He
met Baron Dangloss, tired and worn, near the gate, but the old
officer could tell him nothing except what he had learned from
Ogbot.  Of one thing there could be no doubt: Lorry was gone.
Not knowing where to turn nor what to do, Anguish raced off to
the castle, his bodyguard having located him in the meantime.
He was more in need of their protection than ever.  At the
castle gates he encountered a party of raving Axphainians,
crazed with anger over the flight of the man whose life they had
thirsted for so ravenously.  Had he been unprotected, Anguish
would have fared badly at their hands, for they were outspoken
in their assertions that he had aided Lorry in the escape.  One
fiery little fellow cast a glove in the American's face and
expected a challenge.  Anguish snapped his fingers and
sarcastically invited the insulter to meet him next winter in a
battle with snowballs, upon which the aggressor blasphemed in
three languages and three hundred gestures.  Anguish and his men
passed inside the gates, which had been barred to the others,
and struck out rapidly for the castle doors.

The Princess Yetive was sleeping' soundly, peacefully, with a
smile on her lips, when her Prime Minister sent an excited
attendant to inform her of the prisoner's escape.  She sat up in
bed, and, with her hands clasped about her knees, sleepily
announced that she would receive him after her coffee was
served.  Then she thought of the wild, sweet ride to the
monastery, the dangerous return, her entrance to the castle
through the secret subterranean passage and the safe arrival in
her own room.  All had gone well and he was safe.  She smiled
quaintly as she glanced at the bundle of clothes on the floor,
blue and black and red.  They had been removed in the
underground passage and a loose gown substituted, but she had
carried them to her chamber with the intention of placing them
for the time being in the old mahogany chest that held so many
of her childhood treasures.  Springing out of bed, she opened
the chest, cast them into its depths, turned and removed the key
which had always remained in the lock.  Then she summoned her
maids.

Her uncle and aunt, the Countess Dagmar (whose merry brown eyes
were so full of pretended dismay that the Princess could
scarcely restrain a smile), and Gaspon, the minister of finance,
were awaiting her appearance.  She heard the count's story of
the escape, marveled at the prisoner's audacity, and firmly
announced that everything possible should be done to apprehend
him.  With a perplexed frown on her brow and a dubious twist to
her lips, she said;

"I suppose I must offer a reward."

"Certainly!" exclaimed her uncle.

"About fifty gavvos, uncle?"

"Fifty!" cried the two men, aghast.

"Isn't that enough?"

"For the murderer of a prince?" demanded Gaspon.  "It would be
absurd, your Highness.  He is a most important person."

"Quite so; he is a most important person.  I think I'll offer
five thousand gavvos."

"More like it.  He is worth that, at least," agreed Uncle
Caspar.

"Beyond a doubt," sanctioned Gaspon.

"I am glad you do not consider me extravagant," she said,
demurely.  "You may have the placards printed at once," she went
on, addressing the treasurer.  "Say that a reward of five
thousand gavvos will be paid to the person who delivers Grenfall
Lorry to me."

"Would it not be better to say 'delivers Grenfall Lorry to
the tower'?" submitted Gaspon.

"You may say 'to the undersigned,' and sign my name," she said,
reflectively.

"Very well, your highness.  They shall be struck off this
morning."

"In large type, Gaspon.  You must catch him if you can," she
added.  "He is a very dangerous man and royalty needs
protection."  With this wise bit of caution she dismissed the
subject and began to talk of the storm.

As the two young plotters were hastening up the stairs later on,
an attendant approached and informed the Princess that Mr.
Anguish requested an audience.

"Conduct him to my boudoir," she said, her eyes sparkling with
triumph.  In the seclusion of the boudoir she and the Countess
laughed like children over the reward that had been so solemnly
ordered.

"Five thousand gavvos!" cried Dagmar, leaning back in her chair,
to emphasize the delight she felt.  "What a joke!"

Tap, tap! came a knock on the door, and in the same instant it
flew open, for Mr. Anguish was in a hurry.  As he plunged into
their presence a pair of heels found the floor spasmodically.

"Oh, I beg pardon!" he gasped, as if about to fly.  "May I come
in?"

"Not unless you go outside.  You are already in, it seems," said
the Princess, advancing to meet him.  The Countess was very
still and sedate.  "I am so glad you have come."

"Heard about Lorry?  The fool is out and gone," he cried, unable
to restrain himself.  Without a word she dragged him to the
divan, and, between them, he soon had the whole story poured
into his ears, the Princess on one side, the Countess on the
other.

"You are a wonder!" he exclaimed, when all the facts were known
to him.  He executed a little dance of approval, entirely out of
place in the boudoir of a princess, but very much in touch with
prevailing sentiment.  "But what's to become of me?" he asked,
after cooling down.  "I have no excuse for remaining in
Graustark and I don't like to leave him here, either."

"Oh, I have made plans for you," said she.  "You are to be held
as hostage."

"What!"

"I thought of your predicament last night, and here is the
solution.  This very day I shall issue an order forbidding you
the right to leave Edelweiss.  You will not be in prison, but
your every movement is to be watched.  A strong guard will have
you under surveillance, and any attempt to escape or to
communicate with your friend will result in your confinement and
his detection.  In this way you may stay here until the time
comes to fly.  The Axphain people must be satisfied, you know.
Your freedom will not be disturbed; you may come and go as you
like, but you are ostensibly a prisoner.  By detaining you
forcibly we gain a point, for you are needed here.  There is no
other way in which you can explain a continued presence in
Graustark.  Is not my plan a good one?"

He gazed in admiration at her flushed cheeks and glowing eyes.

"It is beyond comparison," he said, rising and bowing low.  "So
shrewd is this plan that you make me a hostage forever; I shall
not escape its memory if I live to be a thousand."

And so it was settled, in this pretty drama of deception, that
Harry Anguish was to be held in Edelweiss as hostage.  At
parting she said, seriously:

"A great deal depends on your discretion.  Mr. Anguish.  My
guards will watch your every action, for they are not in the
secret,--excepting Quinnox,--and any attempt on your part to
communicate with Grenfall Lorry will be fatal."

"Trust me, your Highness.  I have had much instruction in wisdom
to-day."

"I hope we shall see you often," she said.

"Daily--as a hostage," he replied, glancing toward the Countess.

"That means until the other man is captured," said that young
lady, saucily.

As he left the castle he gazed at the distant building in the
sky and wondered how it had ever been approached in a carriage.
She had not told him that Allode drove for miles over winding
roads that led to the monastery up a gentler slope from the
rear.

The next afternoon Edelweiss thrilled with a new excitement.
Prince Bolaroz of Axphain, mad with grief and rage, came
thundering into the city with his Court at his heels.  His wrath
had been increased until it resembled a tornado when he read the
reward placard in the uplands.  Not until then did he know that
the murderer had escaped and that vengeance might be denied him.

After, viewing the body of Lorenz as it lay in the sarcophagus
of the royal palace, where it had been borne at the command of
the Princess Yetive, he demanded audience with his son's
betrothed, and it was with fear that she prepared for the trying
ordeal, an interview with the grief-crazed old man.  The castle
was in a furore; its halls soon thronged with diplomatists and
there was an ugly sense of trouble in the air, suggestive of the
explosion which follows the igniting of a powder magazine.

The slim, pale-faced Princess met the burly old ruler in the
grand council chamber.  He and his nobles had been kept waiting
but a short time.  Within a very few minutes after they had been
conducted to the chamber by Count Halfont and other dignitaries,
the fair ruler came into the room and advanced between the
bowing lines of courtiers to the spot where sat the man who held
Graustark in his grasp.  A slender, graceful figure in black,
proud and serious, she walked unhesitatingly to the old man's
side.  If she feared him, if she was impressed by his power, she
did not show it.  The little drama had two stars of equal
magnitude, neither of whom acknowledged supremacy in the other.

Bolaroz arose as she drew near, his gaunt face black and
unfriendly.  She extended her hand graciously, and he, a prince
for all his wrath, touched his trembling lips to its white,
smooth back.

"I come in grief and sadness to your Court, most glorious
Yetive.  My burden of sorrow is greater than I can bear," he
said, hoarsely.

"Would that I could give you consolation," she said, sitting in
the chair reserved for her use at council gatherings.  "Alas!
it grieves me that I can offer nothing more than words."

"You are the one he would have made his wife," said the old
Prince, sitting beside her.  He looked into her deep blue eyes
and tears sprung to his own.  His voice failed him, and long
moments passed before he could control his emotion.  Truly she
pitied him in his bereavement.

Then followed a formal discussion of the crime and the
arrangement of details in connection with the removal of the
dead Prince from Graustark to his own land.  These matters
settled, Bolaroz said that he had heard of the murderer's escape
and asked what effort was being made to re-capture him.  Yetive
related all that had happened, expressing humiliation over the
fact that her officers had been unable to accomplish anything,
adding that she did not believe the fugitive could get away from
Graustark safely without her knowledge.  The old Prince was
working himself back into the violent rage that had been
temporarily subdued; and at last broke out in a vicious
denunciation of the carelessness that had allowed the man to
escape.  He first insisted that Dangloss and his incompetent
assistants be thrown into prison for life or executed for
criminal negligence; then he demanded the life of Harry Anguish
as an aider and abettor in the flight of the murderer.  In both
cases the Princess firmly refused to take the action demanded.
She warmly defended Dangloss and his men, and announced in no
uncertain tones that she would not order the arrest of the
remaining American.  Then she acquainted him with her intention
to detain Anguish as hostage and to have his every action
watched in the hope that a clue to the whereabouts of the
fugitive might be discovered, providing, of course, that the
friend knew anything at all about the matter.  The Duke of
Mizrox and others loudly joined in the cry for Anguish's arrest,
but she bravely held out against them and in the end curtly
informed them that the American, whom she believed to be
innocent of all complicity in the escape, should be subjected to
no indignity other than detention in the city under guard, as
she had ordered.

"I insist that this man be cast into prison at once," snarled
the white-lipped Bolaroz.

Her eyes flashed and her bosom heaved with anger.

"You are not at liberty to command in Graustark, Prince
Bolaroz," she said, slowly and distinctly.  "I am ruler here."

The heart of every Graustark nobleman leaped with pride at this
daring rebuff.  Bolaroz gasped and was speechless for some
seconds.

"You shall not be ruler long, madam," he said, malevolently,
significantly.

"But I am ruler now, and, as such, I ask your Highness to
withdraw from my castle.  I did not know that I was to submit to
these threats and insults, or I should not have been kind enough
to grant you an audience, Prince though you are.  When I came to
this room it was to give you my deepest sympathy and to receive
yours, not to be insulted.  You have lost a son, I my betrothed.
It ill becomes you, Prince Bolaroz, to vent your vindictiveness
upon me.  My men are doing all in their power to capture the man
who has so unfortunately escaped from our clutches, and I shall
not allow you or any one else to dictate the manner in which we
are to proceed." She uttered these words cuttingly, and, at
their conclusion, arose to leave the room.

Bolaroz heard her through in surprise and with conflicting
emotions.  There was no mistaking her indignation, so he deemed
it policy to bottle his wrath, overlook the most offensive
rebuke his vanity had ever received, and submit to what was
evidently a just decision.

"Stay, your Highness.  I submit to your proposition regarding
the other stranger, although I doubt its wisdom.  There is but
one in whom I am really interested,--the one who killed my son.
There is to be no cessation in the effort to find him, I am to
understand.  I have a proposition.  With me are three hundred of
my bravest soldiers.  I offer them to you in order that you may
better prosecute the search.  They will remain here and you may
use them in any way you see fit.  The Duke of Mizrox will linger
in Edelweiss and with him you and yours may always confer.  He,
also, is at your command.  This man must be retaken.  I swear,
by all that is above and below me, he shall be found, if I hunt
the world over to accomplish that end.  He shall not escape my
vengeance!  And hark you to this:  On the twentieth of next
month I shall demand payment of the debt due Axphain.  So deeply
is my heart set on the death of this Grenfall Lorry that I agree
now, before all these friends of ours, that if he be captured,
and executed in my presence, before the twentieth of November,
Graustark shall be granted the extension of time that would have
obtained in the event of your espousal with the man he killed.
You hear this offer, all?  It is bound by my sacred word of
honor.  His death before the twentieth gives Graustark ten years
of grace.  If he is still at large, I shall claim my own.  This
offer, I believe, most gracious Yetive, will greatly encourage
your people in the effort to capture the man we seek."

The Princess heard the remarkable proposition with face deathly
pale, heart scarcely beating.  Again was the duty to Graustark
thrust cruelly upon her.  She could save the one only by
sacrificing the other.

"We will do all in our power to--to prove ourselves grateful for
your magnanimous offer," she said.  As she passed from the room,
followed by her uncle, she heard the increasing buzz of
excitement on all sides, the unrestrained expressions of
amazement and relief from her own subjects, the patronizing
comments of the visitors, all conspiring to sound her doom.
Which way was she to turn in order to escape from herself?

"We must catch this man, Yetive," said Halfont, on the stairway.
"There is no alternative."

"Except our inability to do so," she murmured.  In that moment
she determined that Grenfall Lorry should never be taken if she
could prevent it.  He was innocent and it was Graustark's
penalty to pay.

The next day, amidst pomp and splendor, the Prince of Axphain
started on his journey to the land of his forefathers, to the
tombs of his ancestors, all Edelweiss witnessing the imposing
procession that made its way through the north gates of the
town.  Far up on the mountain top a man, looking from his little
window, saw the black, snakelike procession wind away across the
plain to the northward, losing itself in the distant hills.




XXI

FROM A WINDOW ABOVE


The longest month in Lorry's life was that which followed his
romantic flight from the Tower.  To his impatient mind the days
were irksome weeks.  The cold monastery was worse than a prison.
He looked from its windows as a convict looks through his bars,
always hoping, always disappointed.  With each of the infrequent
visits of Captain Quinnox, his heart leaped at the prospect of
liberty, only to sink deeper in despair upon the receipt of
emphatic, though kindly, assurances that the time had not yet
come for him to leave the haven of safety into which he had been
thrust by loving hands.  From his little window he could see the
active city below, with the adored castle; to his nostrils came
the breath of summer from the coveted valley, filling him with
almost insupportable longing and desire.  Cold were the winds
that swept about his lofty home; ghastly, gruesome the nights,
pallid and desolate the days.  Out of the world was he, dreary
and heartsick, while at his feet stretched life and joy and love
in their rarest habiliments.  How he endured the suspense, the
torture of uncertainty, the craving for the life that others
were enjoying, he could not understand.  Big, strong and full of
vigor, his inactivity was maddening; this virtual captivity grew
more and more intolerable with each succeeding day.  Would they
never take him from the tomb in which he was existing?  A
hundred times had he, in his desperation, concluded to flee from
the monastery, come what might, and to trust himself to the
joyous world below, but the ever-present though waning spark of
wisdom won out against the fierce, aggressive folly that
mutinied within his hungry soul.  He knew that she was guarding
him with loving, tender care, and that, when the proper time
came, the shackles of danger would drop and his way would be
cleared.

Still there was the longing, the craving, the loneliness.  Day
after day, night after night went by and the end seemed no
nearer.  Awake or asleep, he dreamed of her, his heart and mind
always full of that one rich blessing,--her love.  At times he
was mad with the desire to know what she was doing, what she was
thinking and what was being done for her down there in that busy
world.  Lying on his pallet, sitting in the narrow window,
pacing the halls or wandering about the cold courtyards, he
thought always of her, hoping and despairing with equal fervor.
The one great question that made his imprisonment, his inactivity
so irksome was:  Was he to possess the treasure he longed so much
to call his own?  In those tantalizing moments of despair he felt
that if he were free and near her he could win the fight against
all odds.  As it was, he knew not what mischief was working
against his chances in the world from which he was barred.

The prior was kind to him; everything that could be done to
provide comfort where comfort was a stranger was employed in his
behalf.

He lived well--until his appetite deserted him; he had no
questions try answer, for no one asked why he was there; he had
no danger to fear, for no foe knew where he lived.  From the city
came the promise of ultimate escape; verbal messages from those
who loved him; news of the world,--all at long intervals, however.
Quinnox's visits were like sunbeams to him.  The dashing captain
came only at night and in disguise.  He bore verbal messages, a
wise precaution against mishap.  Not once did he bring a word of
love from the Princess, an omission which caused the fugitive
deep misery until a ray of intelligence showed him that she
could not give to Quinnox the speeches from her heart, proud
woman that she was.

Anguish sent words of cheer, with commands to be patient.  He
never failed to tell him, through Quinnox, that he was doing all
in his power to find the real murderer and that he had the
secret co-operation of the old police captain.  Of course, the
hidden man heard of the reward and the frenzied search
prosecuted by both principalities.  He laughed hysterically over
the deception that was being practiced by the blue-eyed, slender
woman who held the key to the situation in her keeping.

It was not until the night of the eighteenth of November that
Quinnox confirmed his fears by telling him of the conditions
imposed by Prince Bolaroz.  For some reason the young officer
had deceived Lorry in regard to the all-important matter.  The
American repeatedly had begged for information about the fatal
twentieth, but on all previous occasions his visitor doggedly
maintained a show of ignorance, vowing that he knew nothing of
the circumstances Finally Lorry, completely out of patience and
determined to know the true state of affairs, soundly upbraided
him and sent word to the Princess that if she did not acquaint
him with the inside facts he would leave the monastery and find
them out for himself.  This authoritative message brought
Quinnox back two nights later with the full story of the
exciting conference.  She implored him to remain where he was,
and asked his forgiveness for having kept the ugly truth from
him.  Quinnox added to his anguish by hastily informing him that
there was a possibility of succor from another principality.
Prince Gabriel, he said, not knowing that he was cutting his
listener to the heart, was daily with the Princess, and it was
believed that he was ready to loan Graustark sufficient money to
meet the demand of Bolaroz.  The mere thought that Gabriel was
with her aroused the fiercest resentment in Lorry's breast.  He
writhed beneath the knowledge that she was compelled to endure
his advances, his protestations of love, his presence.

As he paced his narrow room distractedly a horrid thought struck
him so violently that he cried aloud and staggered against the
wall, his eyes fixed on the face of the startled soldier.
Perhaps she might submit to Gabriel, for in submitting she could
save not only Graustark, but the man she loved.  The sacrifice
--but no! he would not believe that such affliction could come to
her!  Marry Gabriel!  The man who had planned to seize her and
make her his wanton!  He ground his teeth and glared at Quinnox
as if he were the object of his hatred, his vicious jealousy.
The captain stepped backward in sudden alarm.

"Don't be afraid!" Lorry cried, savagely.  "I'm not crazy.  It's
your news--your news!  Does she expect me to stay up here while
that state of affairs exists down there?  Let me see: this is
the eighteenth, and day after to-morrow is the twentieth.  There
is no time to be lost, Captain Quinnox.  I shall accompany you
when you leave St. Valentine's to-night."

"Impossible!" exclaimed Quinnox.  "I cannot allow that, sir.  My
instructions are to--"

"Hang your instructions!  All the instructions on earth can't
compel me to sit up here and see this sacrifice made.  I am
determined to see her and put a stop to the whole affair.  It is
what I feared would come to pass.  She is willing to sacrifice
herself or half her kingdom, one or the other, in order that I
may escape.  It's not right, captain, it's not right, and I'm
going to stop it.  How soon can we leave this place?"  He was
pacing the floor, happy in the decision he had reached,
notwithstanding the danger it promised.

"You are mad, sir, to talk like this," protested the other,
despairingly.  "Edelweiss swarms with Axphain soldiers; our own
men are on the alert to win the great reward.  You cannot go to
the city.  When a safe time comes, you will be taken from this
place, into the mountains instead of through the city, and given
escort to Dassas, one hundred miles east.  That step will not be
taken until the way is, perfectly clear.  I tell you, sir, you
cannot hope to escape if you leave the monastery now.  The
mountains are full of soldiers every night."

"I didn't say anything about an escape, did I?  On the contrary,
I want to give myself up to her.  Then she can have Gabriel
thrown over the castle wall and say to Bolaroz, 'Here is your
man; I've gained the ten years of grace.'  That's the point,
Quinnox; can't you see it?  And I want to say to you now, I'm
going whether you consent or refuse.  I'd just as soon be in
jail down there as up here, anyhow.  The only favor I have to
ask of you is that you do the best you can to get me safely to
her.  I must talk with her before I go back to the Tower."

God help me, sir, I cannot take you to her," groaned Quinnox,
trying to control his nervous apprehension.  "I have sworn to
her that I will keep you from all harm, and it would be to break
faith with her if I led you into that mob down there."

"I respect your oath, my friend, but I am going, just the same.
I'll see her, too, if I have to shoot every man who attempts to
prevent me.  I'm desperate, man, desperate!  She's everything in
the world to me, and I'll die before I'll see her suffer."

Quinnox calmly placed his hands on the other's shoulders, and,
looking him in the eye, said quietly:

"Her suffering now is as nothing compared to what it will be if
you go back to the Tower.  You forget how much pain she is
enduring to avoid that very suffering.  If you care for my
mistress, sir, add no weight to the burden she already carries.
Remain here, as she desires.  You can be of no service down
there.  I implore you to be considerate."

It was an eloquent appeal, and it struck home.  Lorry wavered,
but his resolution would not weaken.  He argued, first with
Quinnox, then with himself, finally returning to the reckless
determination to brave all and save her from herself.  The
soldier begged him to listen to reason, implored him to
reconsider, at last turning in anger upon the stubborn American
with a torrent of maledictions.  Lorry heard him through and
quietly, unswervingly announced that he was ready to leave the
monastery at any time his guide cared to depart.  Quinnox gave
up in despair at this, gazing hopelessly at the man he had sworn
to protect, who insisted on placing his head in the lion's jaw.
He sat down at the window and murmured dejectedly:

"What will she say to me--what will she say to me?"

"I shall exonerate you, captain.  She can have no fault to find
with your action after I have told her how loyal you are and
how--how--well, how unreasonable I am," said Lorry, kindly.

"You may never live to tell her this, sir.  Then what is to
become of me?  I could not look her in the face again.  I could
only die!"

"Don't be so faint-hearted, Quinnox!" cried Lorry, stimulated by
the desire to be with her, recognizing no obstacle that might
thwart him in the effort.  "We'll get through, safe and sound,
and we'll untangle a few complications before we reach the end
of the book.  Brace up, for God's sake, for mine, for hers, for
your own.  I must get to her before everything is lost.  My God,
the fear that she may marry Gabriel will drive me mad if I am
left here another night.  Come!  Let us prepare to start.  We
must notify the Abbot that I am to go.  I can be ready in five
minutes.  Ye Gods, think of what she may be sacrificing for me!"

The distracted captain gloomily watched the nervous preparations
for departure, seeing his own disgrace ahead as plainly as if it
had already come upon him.  Lorry soon was attired in the
guard's uniform he had worn from the Tower a month before.  His
pistol was in his pocket, and the bunch of violets she had sent
to him that very night was pinned defiantly above his heart.
Quinnox smiled when he observed this bit of sentiment, and
grimly informed him that he was committing an act prohibited in
Dangloss's disciplinary rules.  Officers on duty were not to
wear nosegays.

"Dangloss will not see my violets.  By the way, the moon shines
brightly, doesn't it?"

"It is almost as light as day.  Our trip is made extremely
hazardous for that reason.  I am sorely afraid, rash sir, that
we cannot reach the castle unseen."

"We must go about it boldly, that's all."

"Has it occurred to you, sir, that you are placing me in a
terrible position?  What excuse can I have, a captain of the
guard, for slinking about at night with a man whom I am supposed
to be tracking to earth?  Discovery will brand me as a traitor.
I cannot deny the charge without exposing Her Royal Highness."

Lorry turned cold.  He had not thought of this alarming
possibility.  But his ready wit came again to his relief, and
with bright, confident eyes he swept away the obstacle.

"If discovered, you are at once to proclaim me a prisoner, take
the credit for having caught me, and claim the reward."

"In that case, you will not go to the castle, but to the Tower."

"Not if you obey orders.  The offer of reward says that I must
be delivered to the undersigned.  You will take me to her and
not to the Tower."

Quinnox smiled and threw up his hands as if unable to combat the
quick logic of his companion.  Together they made their way to
the prior's cell, afterward to the Abbot's apartment.  It was
barely eleven o'clock and he had not retired.  He questioned
Quinnox closely, bade Lorry farewell and blessed him, sent his
benediction to the Princess and ordered them conducted to the
gates.

Ten minutes later they stood outside the wall, the great gates
having been closed sharply behind them.  Above them hung the
silvery moon, full and bright, throwing its refulgent splendor
over the mountain top with all the brilliancy of day.  Never had
Lorry seen the moon so accursedly bright.

"Gad, it is like day," he exclaimed.

"As I told you, sir," agreed the other, reproof in his voice.

"We must wait until the moon goes down.  It won't do to risk it
now.  Can we not go somewhere to keep warm for an hour or so?"

"There is a cave farther down the mountain.  Shall we take the
chance of reaching it?"

"By all means.  I can't endure the cold after being cooped up
for so long."

They followed the winding road for some distance down the
mountain, coming at last to a point where a small path branched
off.  It was the path leading down the side of the steep
overlooking the city, and upon that side no wagon-road could
be built.  Seven thousand feet below stretched the sleeping,
moon-lit city.  Standing out on the brow of the mountain they
seemed to be the only living objects in the world.  There was
no sign of life above, below or beside them.

"How long should we be in making the descent?" asked Lorry, a
sort of terror possessing him as he looked from the dizzy height
into the ghost-like dimness below.

"Three hours, if you are strong."

"And how are we to get into the castle?  I hadn't thought of
that."

"There is a secret entrance," said Quinnox, maliciously enjoying
the insistent one's acknowledgment of weakness.  "If we reach it
safely I can take you underground to the old dungeons beneath
the castle.  It may be some time before you can enter the halls
above, for the secret of that passage is guarded jealously.
There are but five people who know of its existence."

"Great confidence is placed in you, I see, and worthily, I am
sure.  How is it that you are trusted so implicitly?"

"I inherit the confidence.  The captain of the guard is born to
his position.  My ancestors held the place before me, and not
one betrayed the trust.  The first-born in the last ten
generations has been the captain of the guard in the royal
palace, possessing all its secrets.  I shall be the first to
betray the trust--and for a man who is nothing to me."

"I suppose you consider me selfish and vile for placing you in
this position," said Lorry, somewhat contritely.

"No; I have begun the task and I will complete it, come what
may," answered the captain, firmly.  "You are the only being in
the world for whom I would sacrifice my honor voluntarily,--save
one."

"I have wondered why you were never tempted to turn traitor to
the Princess and claim the fortune that is represented in the
reward."

"Not for five million gavvos, sir!"

"By George, you are a faithful lot!  Dangloss, Allode and Ogbot
and yourself, four honest men to whom she trusts her life, her
honor.  You belong to a rare species, and I am proud to know
you."

The stealthy couple found the cave and spent an hour or more
within its walls, sallying forth after the tardy darkness had
crept down over the mountain and into the peaceful valley.  Then
began the tortuous descent.  Quinnox in the lead, they walked,
crawled and ran down the narrow path, bruised, scratched and
aching by the time they reached the topmost of the summer houses
along the face of the mountain.  After this walking was easier,
but stealthiness made their progress slow.  Frequently, as they
neared the base, they were obliged to dodge behind houses or to
drop into the ditches by the roadside in, order to avoid
patroling police guards or Axphain sleuth-hounds.  Lorry
marveled at the vigil the soldiers were keeping, and was
somewhat surprised to learn from the young captain that
prevailing opinion located him in or near the city.  For this
reason, while other men were scouring Vienna, Paris and even
London, hordes of vengeful men searched day and night for a clew
in the city of Edelweiss.

The fugitive began to realize how determined was the effort to
capture him and how small the chance of acquittal if he were
taken.  To his fevered imagination the enmity of the whole world
was shaping itself against him.  The air was charged with
hatred, the ground with vengeance, the trees and rocks with
denouncing shadows, while from the darkness behind merciless
hands seemed to be stretching forth to clutch him.  One simple,
loyal love stood alone antagonistic to the universal desire to
crush and kill.  A fragile woman was shielding him sturdily,
unwaveringly against all these mighty forces.  His heart
thrilled with devotion; his arm tingled with the joy of clasping
her once more to his breast; his wistful eyes hung upon the
flickering light far off in the west.  Quinnox had pointed it
out to him, saying that it burned in the bedchamber of the
Princes Yetive.  Since the memorable night that took him to the
cell in St. Valentine's, this light had burned from dusk to
daylight.  Lovingly, faithfully it had shone for him through all
those dreary nights, a lonely signal from one heart to another.

At last, stiff and sore, they stole into the narrow streets of
Edelweiss.  Lorry glanced back and shivered, although the air
was warm and balmy.  He had truly been out of the world.  Not
until this instant did he fully appreciate the dread that
possesses a man who is being hunted down by tireless foes; never
did man's heart go out in gratitude and trustfulness as did his
toward the strong defender whose sinewy arm he clasped as if in
terror.

"You understand what this means to me," said Quinnox gravely, as
they paused to rest.  "She will call me your murderer and curse
me for my miserable treason.  I am the first to dishonor the
name of Quirinox,"




XXII

GRENFALL LORRY'S FOE


The Princess Yetive had not flinched a hair's breadth from the
resolution formed on that stormy night when she sacrificed pride
and duty on the altar of love and justice.  Prince Bolaroz's
ultimatum overwhelmed her, but she arose from the wreckage that
was strewn about her conscience and remained loyal, steadfast
and true to the man in the monastery.  To save his life was all
she could hope to accomplish, and that she was bound to do at
any cost.  She could be nothing to him--not even friend.  So
long as he lived he would be considered the murderer of Lorenz,
and until the end a price would hang over his head.  She,
Princess of Graustark, had offered a reward for him.  For that
reason he was always to be a fugitive, and she least of all
could hope to see him.  There had been a brief, happy dream, but
it was swept away by the unrelenting rush of reality.  The mere
fact that she, and she alone, was responsible for his flight
placed between them an unsurmountable barrier.

Clinging tenaciously to her purpose, she was still cognizant of
the debt she owed the trusting, loving people of Graustark.  One
word from her could avert the calamity that was to fall with the
dawn of the fatal twentieth.  All Graustark blindly trusted and
adored her; to undeceive them would be to administer a shock
from which they could never recover.

Her heart was bursting with love for Lorry; her mind was
overflowing with tender thoughts that could not be sent to him,
much as she trusted to the honor of Quinnox, her messenger.
Hour after hour she sat in her window and marveled at the change
that had been wrought in her life by this strong American, her
eyes fixed on the faraway monastery, her heart still and cold
and fearful.  She had no confidant in this miserable affair of
the heart.  Others, near and dear, had surmised, but no word of
hers confirmed.  A diffidence, strange and proud, forbade the
confession of her frailty, sweet, pure and womanly though it
was.  She could not forget that she was a Princess.

The Countess Dagmar was piqued by her reticence and sought in
manifold ways to draw forth the voluntary avowal, with its
divine tears and blushes.  Harry Anguish, who spent much of his
time at the castle and who invariably deserted his guards at the
portals, was as eager as the Countess to have her commit herself
irretrievably by word or sign, but he, too, was disappointed.
He was, also, considerably puzzled.  Her Highness's manner
was at all times frank and untroubled.  She was apparently
light-hearted; her cheeks had lost none of their freshness; her
eyes were bright; her smile was quick and merry; her wit
unclouded.  Receptions, drawing-rooms and state functions
found her always vivacious, so much so that her Court wondered
not a little.  Daily reports brought no news of the fugitive, but
while others were beginning to acquire the haggard air of worry
and uncertainty, she was calmly resigned.  The fifteenth, the
sixteenth, the seventeenth, the eighteenth and now the
nineteenth of November came and still the Princess revealed no
marked sign of distress.  Could they have seen her in the
privacy of her chamber on those dreary, maddening nights they
would not have known their sovereign.

Heavy-hearted and with bowed heads the people of Graustark saw
the nineteenth fade in the night, the breaking of which would
bring the crush of pride, the end of power.  At court there was
the silent dread and the dying hope that relief might come at
the last hour.  Men, with pale faces and tearful eyes, wandered
through the ancient castle, speechless, nerveless, miserable.
Brave soldiers crept about, shorn of pride and filled with woe.
Citizens sat and stared aimlessly for hours, thinking of naught
but the disaster so near at hand and so unavoidable.  The whole
nation surged as if in the last throes of death.  To-morrow the
potency of Graustark was to die, its domain was to be cleft in
twain,--disgraced before the world.

And, on the throne of this afflicted land sat the girl, proud,
tender, courageous Yetive.  To all Graustark she was its
greatest, its most devoted sufferer; upon her the blow fell
heaviest.  There she sat, merciful and merciless, her slim white
hand ready to sign the shameful deed in transfer, ready to sell
her kingdom for her love.  Beneath her throne, beneath her feet,
cowered six souls, possessors of the secret.  Of all the people
in the world they alone knew the heart of the Princess Yetive,
they alone felt with her the weight of the sacrifice.  With
wistful eyes, fainting hearts and voiceless lips five of them
watched the day approach, knowing that she would not speak and
that Graustark was doomed.  Loyal conspirators against that
which they loved better than their lives--their country--were
Dangloss, Quinnox, Allode, Ogbot and Dagmar.  To-morrow would
see the north torn from the south, the division of families, the
rending of homes, the bursting of hearts.  She sanctioned all
this because she loved him and because he had done no wrong.

Aware of her financial troubles and pursuing the advantage that
his rival's death had opened to him, Prince Gabriel, of
Dawsbergen, renewed his ardent suit.  Scarce had the body of the
murdered Prince left the domain before he made his presence
marked.  She was compelled to receive his visits, distasteful as
they were, but she would not hear his propositions.  Knowing
that he was in truth the mysterious Michael who had planned her
abduction, she feared and despised him, yet dared make no public
denunciation.  As Dawsbergen was too powerful to be antagonized
at this critical time, she was constantly forced to submit to
the most trying and repulsive of ordeals.  Tact and policy were
required to control the violent, hot-blooded young ruler from
the south.  At times she despaired and longed for the quiet of
the tomb; at other times she was consumed by the fires of
resentment, rebelling against the ignominy to which she was
subjected.  Worse than all to her were the insolent overtures of
Gabriel.  How she endured she could not tell.  The tears of
humiliation shed after his departure on the occasion of each
visit revealed the bitterness that was torturing this proud
martyr.

He had come at once to renew his offer of a loan, knowing her
helplessness.  Day after day he haunted the castle, persistent
in his efforts to induce her to accept his proposition.  So
fierce was his passion, so implacable his desire, that he went
among the people of Edelweiss, presenting to them his proposal,
hoping thereby to add public feeling to his claims.  He tried to
organize a committee of citizens to go before the Princess with
the petition that his offer be accepted and the country saved.
But Graustark was loyal to its Princess.  Not one of her
citizens listened to the wily Prince, and more than one told him
or his emissaries that the loss of the whole kingdom was
preferable to the marriage he desired.  The city sickened at the
thought.

His last and master-stroke in the struggle to persuade came on
the afternoon of the nineteenth, at an hour when all Edelweiss
was in gloom and when the Princess was taxed to the point where
the mask of courage was so frail that she could scarce hide her
bleeding soul behind it.

Bolaroz of Axphain, to quote from the news-despatch, was in
Edelweiss, a guest, with a few of his lords, in the castle.
North of the city were encamped five thousand men.  He had come
prepared to cancel the little obligation of fifteen years
standing.  With the hated creditor in the castle, his influence
hovering above the town, the populace distracted by the thoughts
of the day to come, Gabriel played what he considered his best
card.  He asked for and obtained a final interview with Yetive,
not in her boudoir or her reception room, but in the throne
room, where she was to meet Bolaroz in the morning.

The Princess, seated on her throne, awaited the approach of the
resourceful, tenacious suitor.  He came and behind him strode
eight stalwart men, bearing a long iron-bound chest, the result
of his effort with his bankers.  Yetive and her nobles looked in
surprise on this unusual performance.  Dropping to his knee
before the throne, Gabriel said, his voice trembling slightly
with eagerness and fear:

"Your Highness, to-morrow will see the turning point in the
history of two, possibly three nations--Graustark, Axphain and
Dawsbergen.  I have included my own land because its ruler is
most vitally interested.  He would serve and save Graustark, as
you know, and he would satisfy Axphain.  It is in my power to
give you aid at this last, trying hour, and I implore you to
listen to my words of sincerest friendship,--yes, adoration.
To-morrow you are to pay to Prince Bolaroz over twenty-five
million gavvos or relinquish the entire north half of your
domain.  I understand the lamentable situation.  You can raise
no more than fifteen millions and you are helpless.  He will
grant no extension of time.  You know what I have proffered
before.  I come to-day to repeat my friendly offer and to give
unquestioned bond as to my ability to carry it out.  If you
agree to accept the loan I extend, ten million gavvos for
fifteen years at the usual rate of interest, you can on to-morrow
morning place in the hand of Axphain when he makes his
formal demand the full amount of your indebtedness in gold.
Ricardo, open the chest!"

An attendant threw open the lid of the chest.  It was filled
with gold coins.

"This box contains one hundred thousand gavvos.  There are in
your halls nine boxes holding nine times as much as you see
here. And there are nine times as much all told on the way.
This is an evidence of my good faith.  Here is the gold.
Pay Bolaroz and owe Gabriel, the greatest happiness that
could come to him."

There was a dead silence after this theatrical action.

"The interest on this loan is not all you ask, I understand,"
said Halfont, slowly, his black eyes glittering.  "You ask
something that Graustark cannot and will not barter--the hand of
its Sovereign.  If you are willing to make this loan, naming a
fair rate of interest, withdrawing your proposal of marriage, we
can come to an agreement."

Gabriel's eyes deadened with disappointment, his breast heaved
and his fingers twitched.

"I have the happiness of your Sovereign at heart as much as my
own," he said.  "She shall never want for devotion, she shall
never know a pain."

"You are determined, then, to adhere to your original
proposition?" demanded the Count.

"She would have married Lorenz to save her land, to protect her
people.  Am I not as good as Lorenz?  Why not give--" began
Gabriel, viciously, but Yetive arose, and, with gleaming eyes
and flushing cheeks, interrupted him.

"Go!  I will not hear you--not one word!"

He passed from the room without another word.  Her Court saw her
standing straight and immovable, her white face transfigured.




XIII

THE VISITOR AT MIDNIGHT


Below the castle and its distressed occupants, in a dark, damp
little room, Grenfall Lorry lived a year in a day.  On the night
of the eighteenth, or rather near the break of dawn on the
nineteenth, Captain Quinnox guided him from the dangerous
streets of Edelweiss to the secret passage, and he was safe for
the time being.  The entrance to the passage was through a
skillfully hidden opening in the wall that enclosed the park.  A
stone doorway, so cleverly constructed that it defied detection,
led to a set of steps which, in turn, took one to a long narrow
passage.  This ended in a stairway fully a quarter of a mile
from its beginning.  Ascending this stairway one came to a
secret panel, through which, by pressing a spring, the interior
of the castle was reached.  The location of the panel was in one
of the recesses in the wall of the chapel, near the altar.  It
was in this chapel that Yetive exchanged her male attire for a
loose gown, weeks before, and the servant who saw her come from
the door at an unearthly hour in the morning believed she had
gone there to seek surcease from the troubles which oppressed
her.

Lorry was impatient to rush forth from his place of hiding and
to end all suspense, but Quinnox demurred.  He begged the eager
American to remain in the passage until the night of the
nineteenth, when, all things going well, he might be so
fortunate as to reach the Princess without being seen.  It was
the secret hope of the guilty captain that his charge could be
induced by the Princess to return to the monastery, to avoid
complications.  He promised to inform Her Highness of his
presence in the underground room and to arrange for a meeting.
The miserable fellow could not find courage to confess his
disobedience to his trusting mistress.  Many times during the
day she had seen him hovering near, approaching and then
retreating, and had wondered not a little at his peculiar
manner.

And so it was that Lorry chafed and writhed through a long day
of suspense and agony.  Quinnox had brought to the little room
some candles, food and bedding, but he utilized only the former.
The hours went by and no summons called him to her side.  He was
dying with the desire to hold her in his arms and to hear her
voice again.  Pacing to and fro like a caged animal, he recalled
the ride in West Virginia, the scene in her bed chamber, the day
in the throne room and, more delicious than all, the trip to the
monastery.  In his dreams, waking or sleeping, he had seen the
slim soldier, had heard the muffled voice, and had felt the
womanly caresses.  His brain now was in a whirl, busy with
thoughts of love and fear, distraught with anxiety for her and
for himself, bursting with the awful consequences of the hour
that was upon them.  What was to become of him?  What was to be
the end of this drama?  What would the night, the morrow bring
about?

He looked back and saw himself as he was a year ago in
Washington, before she came into his life, and then wondered if
it could ready be he who was going through these strange,
improbable scenes, these sensations.  It was nine o'clock in the
evening when Quinnox returned to the little room.  The waiting
one had looked at his watch a hundred times, had run insanely up
and down the passage in quest of the secret exit, had shouted
aloud in the frenzy of desperation.

"Have you seen her?" he cried, grasping the new-comer's hand.

"I have, but, before God, I could not tell her what I had done.
Your visit will be a surprise, I fear a shock."

"Then how am I to see her?  Fool!  Am I to wait here forever--"

"Have patience!  I will take you to her tonight--aye, within an
hour.  To-morrow morning she signs away the northern provinces
and her instructions are that she is not to be disturbed to-night.
Not even will she see the Countess Dagmar after nine o'clock.  It
breaks my heart to see the sorrow that abounds in the castle
to-night.  Her Highness insists on being alone and Bassot, the
new guard, has orders to admit no one to her apartments.  He is
ill and I have promised that a substitute shall relieve him at
eleven o'clock.  You are to be the substitute.  Here is a part of
an old uniform of mine, and here is a coat that belonged to
Dannox, who was about your size.  Please exchange the
clothes you now have on for these.  I apprehend no trouble in
reaching her door, for the household is in gloom and the halls
seem barren of life."

He threw the bundle on a chair and Lorry at once proceeded to
don the contents.  In a very short time he wore, instead of the
cell keeper's garments, a neat-fitting uniform of the royal
guard.  He was trembling violently, chilled to the bone with
nervousness, as they began the ascent of the stairs leading to
the chapel.  The crisis in his life, he felt, was near at hand.

Under the stealthy hand of Quinnox the panel opened and they
listened intently for some moments.  There was no one in the
dimly-lighted chapel, so they made their way to the door at the
opposite end.  The great organ looked down upon them and Lorry
expected every instant to hear it burst forth in sounds of
thunder.  It seemed alive and watching their movements
reproachfully.  Before unlocking the door, the captain pointed
to a lance which stood against the wall near by.

"You are to carry that lance," he said, briefly.  Then he
cautiously peered forth.  A moment later they were in the broad
hall, boldly striding toward the distant stairway.  Lorry had
been instructed to proceed without the least sign of timidity.
They passed several attendants in the hall and heard Count
Halfont's voice in conversation with some one in an ante-room.
As they neared the broad steps who should come tripping down but
Harry Anguish.  He saluted Quinnox and walked rapidly down the
corridor, evidently taking his departure after a call on the
Countess.

"There goes your hostage," said the captain, grimly.  It had
required all of Lorry's self-possession to restrain the cry of
joyful recognition.  Up the staircase they went, meeting several
ladies and gentlemen coming down, and were soon before the
apartments of the Princess.  A tall guard stood in front of the
boudoir door.

"This is your relief, Bassot.  You may go," said Quinnox, and,
with a careless glance at the strange soldier, the sick man
trudged off down the hall, glad to seek his bed.

"Is she there?" whispered Lorry, dizzy and faint with
expectancy.

"Yes.  This may mean your death and mine, sir, but you would do
it.  Will you explain to her how I came to play her false?"

"She shall know the truth, good friend."

"After I have gone twenty paces down the hall, do you rap on the
door.  She may not admit you at first, but do not give up.  If
she bid you enter or asks your mission, enter quickly and close
the door.  It is unlocked.  She may swoon, or scream, and you
must prevent either if possible.  In an hour I shall return and
you must go back to the passage."

"Never!  I have come to save her and her country, and I intend
to do so by surrendering myself this very night."

"I had hoped to dissuade you.  But, sir, you cannot do so
to-night.  You forget that this visit compromises her."

"True.  I had forgotten.  Well, I'll go back with you, but
to-morrow I am your prisoner, not your friend."

"Be careful," cautioned the captain as he moved away.  Lorry
feverishly tapped his knuckles on the panel of the door and
waited with motionless heart for the response.  It came not and
he rapped harder, a strange fear darting into his mind.

"Well?" came from within, the voice he adored.

Impetuous haste marked his next movement.  He dashed open the
door, sprang inside and closed it quickly.  She was sitting
before her escritoire, writing, and looked up, surprised and
annoyed.

"I was not to be disturbed--Oh, God!"

She staggered to her feet and was in his arms before the breath
of her exclamation had died away.  Had he not supported her she
would have dropped to the floor.  Her hands, her face were like
ice, her breast was pulseless and there was the wildest terror
in her eyes.

"My darling--my queen!" he cried, passionately.  "At last I am
with you!  Don't look at me like that!  It is really I--I could
not stay away--I could not permit this sacrifice of yours.
Speak to me   Do not stare like that!"

Her wide blue eyes slowly swept his face, piteous wonder and
doubt struggling in their depths.

"Am I awake?" she murmured, touching his face with her
bewildered, questioning hands.  "Is it truly you?"  A smile
illumined her face, but her joy was short-lived.  An expression
of terror came to her eyes and there was agony in the fingers
that clasped his arm.  "Why do you come here?" she cried.  "It
is madness!  How and why came you to this room?"

He laughed like a delighted boy and hastily narrated the events
of the past twenty-four hours, ending with the trick that gave
him entrance to her room.

"And all this to see me?" she whispered.

"To see you and to save you.  I hear that Gabriel has been
annoying you and that you are to give up half of the kingdom
to-morrow.  Tell me everything.  It is another reason for my
coming."

Sitting beside him on the divan, she told of Gabriel's visit and
his dismissal, the outlook for the next day, and then sought to
convince him of the happiness it afforded her to protect him from
an undeserved death.  He obtained for Quinnox the royal pardon
and lauded him to the skies.  So ravishing were the moments, so
ecstatic the sensations that possessed them that neither thought
of the consequences if he were to be discovered in her room,
disguised as one of her guardsmen.  He forgot the real import of
his reckless visit until she commanded him to stand erect before
her that she might see what manner of soldier he was.  With a
laugh, he leaped to his feet and stood before her--attention!
She leaned back among the cushions and surveyed him through the
glowing, impassioned eyes which slowly closed as if to shut out
temptation.

"You are a perfect soldier," she said, her lashes parting ever so
slightly.

"No more perfect than you," he cried.  She remembered, with
confusion, her own masquerading, but it was unkind of him to
remember it.  Her allusion to his uniform turned his thoughts
into the channel through which they had been surging so
turbulently up to the moment that found him tapping at her door.

He had not told her of his determination, and the task grew
harder as he saw the sparkle glow brighter and brighter in her
eye.

"You are a brave soldier, then," she substituted.  "It required
courage to come to Edelweiss with hundreds of men ready to seize
you at sight,--a pack of bloodhounds."

"I should have been a miserable coward to stay up there while you
are so bravely facing disaster alone down here.  I came to help
you, as I should."

"But you can do nothing, dear, and you only make matters worse by
coming to me.  I have fought so hard to overcome the desire to be
near you; I have struggled against myself for days and days, and
I had won the battle when you came to pull my walls of strength
down about my ears.  Look!  On my desk is a letter I was writing
to you.  No; you shall not read it!  No one shall ever know what
it contains."  She darted to the desk, snatched up the sheets of
paper and held them over the waxed taper.  He stood in the middle
of the room, a feeling of intense desolation settling down upon
him.  How could he lose this woman?

"To-morrow night Quinnox is to take you from the monastery and
conduct you to a distant city.  It has all been planned.  Your
friend, Mr. Anguish, is to meet you in three days and you are to
hurry to America by way of Athens.  This was a letter to you.  In
it I said many things and was trying to write farewell when you
came to this room.  Do you wonder that I was overcome with doubt
and amazement--yes, and horror?  Ach, what peril you are in here!
Every minute may bring discovery and that would mean death to
you.  You are innocent, but nothing could save you.  The proof is
too strong.  Mizrox has found a man who swears he saw you enter
Lorenz's room."

"What a damnable lie!" cried Lorry, lightly.  "I was not near his
room!"

"But you can see what means they will adopt to convict you.  You
are doomed if caught, by my men or theirs.  I cannot save you
again.  You know now that I love you.  I would not give away half
of the land that my forefathers ruled were it not true.  Bolaroz
would be glad to grant ten years of grace could he but have you
in his clutches.  And, to see me, you would run the risk of
undoing all that I have planned, accomplished and suffered for.
Could you not have been content with that last good-by at the
monastery?  It is cruel to both of us--to me especially--that we
must have the parting again."  She had gone to the divan and now
dropped limply among the cushions, resting her head on her hand.

"I was determined to see you," he said.  "They shall not kill me
nor are you to sacrifice your father's domain.  Worse than all, I
feared that you might yield to Gabriel."

"Ach!  You insult me when you say that!  I yielded to Lorenz
because I thought it my duty and because I dared not admit to
myself that I loved you.  But Gabriel!  Ach!" she cried.
scornfully.  "Grenfall Lorry, I shall marry no man.  You I love,
but you I cannot marry.  It is folly to dream of it, even as a
possibility.  When you go from Graustark tomorrow night you take
my heart, my life, my soul with you.  I shall never see you
again--God help me to say this--I shall never allow you to see me
again.  I tell you I could not bear it.  The weakest and the
strongest of God's creations is woman."  She started suddenly,
half rising.  "Did any one see you come to my room?  Was Quinnox
sure?"

"We passed people, but no one knew me.  I will go if you are
distressed over my being here."

"It is not that--not that.  Some spy may have seen you.  I have a
strange fear that they suspect me and that I am being watched.
Where is Captain Quinnox?"

"He said he would return for me in an hour.  The time is almost
gone.  How it has flown!  Yetive, Yetive, I will not give you
up!" he cried, sinking to his knees before her.

"You must--you shall!  You must go back to the monastery
to-night!  Oh how I pray that you may reach it in safety!  And,
you must leave this wretched country at once.  Will you see if
Quinnox is outside the door?  Be quick!  I am mad with the fear
that you may be found here--that you may be taken before you can
return to St. Valentine's."

He arose and stood looking down at the intense face, all aquiver
with the battle between temptation and solicitude.

"I am not going back to St. Valentine's," he said, slowly.

"But it is all arranged for you to start from there tomorrow.
You cannot escape the city guard except through St. Valentine's."

"Yetive, has it not occurred to you that I may not wish to escape
the city guard?"

"May not wish to escape the--what do you mean?" she cried,
bewildered.

"I am not going to leave Edelweiss, dearest.  It is my intention
to surrender myself to the authorities."

She gazed at him in horror for a moment and then fell back with a
low moan.

"For God's sake, do not say that!" she wailed.  "I forbid you to
think of it.  You cannot do this after all I have done to save
you.  Ach, you are jesting; I should have known."

He sat down and drew her to his side.  Some moments passed before
he could speak.

"I cannot and will not permit you to make such a sacrifice for
me.  The proposition of Bolaroz is known to me.  If you produce
me for trial you are to have a ten years' extension.  My duty is
plain.  I am no cowardly criminal, and I am not afraid to face my
accusers.  At the worst, I can die but once."

"Die but once," she repeated, as if in a dream.

"I came here to tell you of my decision, to ask you to save your
lands, protect your people, and to remember that I would die a
thousand times to serve you and yours."

"After all I have done--after all I have done," she murmured,
piteously.  "No, no!  You shall not!  You are more to me than all
my kingdom, than all the people in the world.  You have made me
love you, you have caused me to detest the throne which separates
us, you have made me pray that I might be a pauper, but you shall
not force me to destroy the mite of hope that lingers in my
heart.  You shall not crush the hope that there may be a--a--some
day!"

"A some day?  Some day when you will be mine?" he cried.

"I will not say that, but, for my sake,--for my sake,--go away
from this place.  Save yourself!  You are all I have to live
for."  Her arms were about his neck and her imploring words went
to his heart like great thrusts of pain.

"You forget the thousands who love and trust you.  Do they
deserve to be wronged?"

"No, no,--ach, God, how I have suffered because of them!  I have
betrayed them, have stolen their rights and made them a nation of
beggars.  But I would not, for all this nation, have an innocent
man condemned--nor could my people ask that of me.  You cannot
dissuade me.  It must be as I wish.  Oh, why does not Quinnox
come for you!"  She arose and paced the floor distractedly.

He was revolving a selfish, cowardly capitulation to love and
injustice, when a sharp tap was heard at the door.  Leaping to
his feet he whispered:

"Quinnox!  He has come for me.  Now to get out of your room
without being seen!"

The Princess Yetive ran to him, and, placing her hands on his
shoulders, cried with the fierceness of despair:

"You will go back to the monastery?  You will leave Graustark?
For my sake--for my sake!"

He hesitated and then surrendered, his honor falling weak and
faint by the pathway of passion.

"Yes!" he cried, hoarsely.

Tap!  tap!  tap!  at the door.  Lorry took one look at the
rapturous face and released her,

"Come!" she called.

The door flew open, an attendant saluted, and in stepped
--Gabriel!




XXIV

OFF TO THE DUNGEON


The tableau lasted but a moment.  Gabriel advanced a few steps,
his eyes gleaming with jealousy and triumph.  Before him stood
the petrified lovers, caught red-handed.  Through her dazed brain
struggled the conviction that he could never escape; through his
ran the miserable realization that he had ruined her forever.
Gabriel, of all men!

"I arrive inopportunely," he said, harshly, the veins standing
out on his neck and temples.  "Do I intrude?  I was not aware
that you expected two, your highness!"  There was no mistaking
his meaning.  He viciously sought to convey the impression that
he was there by appointment, a clandestine visitor in her
apartments at midnight.

"What do you mean by coming to my apartment at this hour?" she
stammered, trying to rescue dignity from the chaos of emotions.
Lorry was standing slightly to the right and several feet behind
her.  He understood the Prince, and quickly sought to interpose
with the hope that he might shield her from the sting.

"She did not expect me, sir," he said, and a menacing gleam came
to his eyes.  His pistol was in his hand.  Gabriel saw it, but
the staring Princess did not.  She could not take her eyes from
the face of the intruder.  "Now, may I ask why you are here?"

Gabriel's wit saved him from death.  He saw that he could not
pursue the course he had begun, for there was murder in the
American's eye.  Like a fox he swerved and, with a servile
promise of submission in his glance, said:

"I thought you were here, my fine fellow, and I came to satisfy
myself.  Now, sir, may I ask why you are here?"  His fingers
twitched and his eyes were glassy with the malevolence he was
subduing.

"I am here as a prisoner," said Lorry, boldly.  Gabriel laughed
derisively.

"And how often have you come here in this manner as a prisoner?
Midnight and alone in the apartments of the Princess!  The guard
dismissed!  A prisoner, eh?  Ha, what--a prison!"

"Stop!" cried Lorry, white to the lips.

The Princess was beginning to understand.

Her eyes grew wide with horror, her figure straightened
imperiously and the white in her cheeks gave way to the red of
insulted virtue.

"I see it all!  You have not been outside this castle since you
left the prison.  A pretty scheme!  You could not marry him,
could you, eh?  He is not a prince!  But you could bring him here
and hide him where no one would dare to think of looking for him
--in your apartments!"

With a snarl of rage Lorry sprang upon him, cutting short the
sentence that would have gone through her like the keenest
knife-blade.

"Liar!  Dog!  I'll kill you for that!" he cried, but, before he
could clutch the Prince's throat, Yetive had frantically seized
his arm.

"Not that!" she shrieked.  "Do not kill him!  There must be no
murder here!"

He reluctantly hurled Gabriel from him, the Prince tottering to
his knees in the effort to keep from falling.  She had saved her
maligner's life, but courage deserted her with the act.
Helplessly she looked into the blazing eyes of her lover and
faltered:

"I--I do not know what to say or do.  My brain is bursting!"

"Courage, courage!" he whispered, gently.

You shall pay for this," shrieked Gabriel.  "If you are not a
prisoner you shall be.  There'll be scandal enough in Graustark
to-morrow to start a volcano of wrath from the royal tombs where
lie her fathers.  I'll see that you are a prisoner!"  He started
for the door, but Lorry's pistol was leveled at his head.

"If you move I'll kill you!"

"The world will understand how and why I fell by your hand and in
this room.  Shoot!" he cried, triumphantly.  Lorry's hand
trembled and his eyes filled with the tears of impotent rage.
The Prince held the higher card.

A face suddenly appeared at the door, which had been stealthily
opened from without.  Captain Quinnox glided into the room behind
the Prince and gently closed the door, unnoticed by the gloater.

"A prisoner?" sneered Gabriel.  "Where is your captor, pray?"

"Here!" answered a voice at his back.  The Prince wheeled and
found himself looking at the stalwart form of the captain of the
guard.  "I am surely privileged to speak now, your Highness," he
went on, addressing the Princess significantly.

"How came you here?" gasped Gabriel.

"I brought my prisoner here.  Where should I be if not here to
guard him?"

"When--when did you enter this room?"

"An hour ago."

"You were not here when I came!"

"I have been standing on this spot for an hour.  You have been
very much excited, I'll agree, but it is strange you did not see
me," lied Quinnox.

Gabriel looked about helplessly, nonplussed.

"You were here when I came in?" he asked, wonderingly.

"Ask Her Royal Highness," commanded the captain, smiling.

"Captain Quinnox brought the prisoner to me an hour ago," she
said, mechanically.

"It is a lie!" cried Gabriel.  "He was not here when I entered!"

The captain of the guard laid a heavy hand on the shoulder of the
Prince and said, threateningly:

"I was here and I am here.  Have a care how you speak.  Were I to
do right I should shoot you like a dog.  You came like a thief,
you insult the ruler of my land.  I have borne it all because you
are a Prince, but have a care--have a care.  I may forget myself
and tear out your black heart with these hands.  One word from
Her Royal Highness will be your death warrant."

He looked inquiringly at the Princess as if anxious to put the
dangerous witness where he could tell no tales.  She shook her
head, but did not speak.  Lorry realized that the time had come
for him to assert himself.  Assuming a distressed air he bowed
his head and said, dejectedly:

"My pleading has been in vain, then, your Highness.  I have sworn
to you that I am innocent of this murder, and you have said I
shall have a fair trial.  That is all you can offer?"

"That is all," she said, shrilly, her mind gradually grasping his
meaning.

"You will not punish the poor people who secreted me in their
house for weeks, for they are convinced of my innocence.  Your
captain here, who found me in their house to-night, can also
speak well of them.  I have only this request to make, in return
for what little service I may have given you: Forgive the old
people who befriended me.  I am ready to go to the Tower at once,
captain."

Gabriel heard this speech with a skeptical smile on his face.

"I am no fool," he said, simply.  "Captain," shrewdly turning to
Quinnox, "if he is your prisoner, why do you permit him to retain
his revolver?"

The conspirators were taken by surprise, but Lorry had found his
wits.

"It is folly, your Highness, to allow this gentleman and
conquering Prince to cross-examine you.  I am a prisoner, and
that is the end of it.  What odds is it to the Prince of
Dawsbergen how and where I was caught or why your officer brought
me to you?"

"You were ordered from my house once today, yet you come again
like a conqueror.  I should not spare you.  You deserve to lose
your life for the actions of tonight.  Captain Quinnox, will you
kill him if I ask you to end his wretched life?"  Yetive's eyes
were blazing with wrath, beneath which gleamed a hope that he
could be frightened into silence.

"Willingly--willingly!" cried Quinnox.  "Now, your Highness?
'Twere better in the hall!"

"For God's sake, do not murder me!  Let me go!" cringed the
Prince.

"I do not mean that you should kill him now, Quinnox, but I
instruct you to do so if he puts foot inside these walls again.
Do you understand?"

"Yes, your Highness."

"Then you will place this prisoner in the castle dungeon until
to-morrow morning, when he is to be taken to the Tower.  Prince
Gabriel may accompany you to the dungeon cell, if he likes, after
which you will escort him to the gates.  If he enters them again
you are to kill him.  Take them both away!"

"Your Highness, I must ask you to write a pardon for the good
people in whose house the prisoner was found," suggested Quinnox,
shrewdly seeing a chance for communication unsuspected by the
Prince.

"A moment, your Highness," said the Prince, who had recovered
himself cleverly.  "I appreciate your position.  I have made a
serious charge, and I now have a fair proposition to suggest to
you.  If this man is not produced to-morrow morning I take it for
granted that I am at liberty to tell all that has happened in
this room to-night.  If he is produced, I shall kneel and beg
your pardon."

The Princess turned paler than ever and knew not how she kept
from falling to the floor.  There was a long silence following
Gabriel's unexpected but fair suggestion.

"That is very fair, your Highness," said Lorry.  "There is no
reason why I should not be a prisoner to-morrow.  I don't see how
I can hope to escape the inevitable.  Your dungeon is strong and
I have given my word of honor to the captain that I shall make no
further effort to evade the law."

"I agree," murmured the Princess, ready to faint under the
strain.

"I must see him delivered to Prince Bolaroz," added Gabriel
mercilessly.

"To Bolaroz," she repeated.

"Your Highness, the pardon for the poor old people," reminded
Quinnox.  She glided to the desk, stunned, bewildered.  It seemed
as though death were upon her.  Quinnox followed and bent near
her ear.  "Do not be alarmed," he whispered.  "No one knows of
Mr. Lorry's presence here save the Prince, and if he dares to
accuse you before Bolaroz our people will tear him to pieces.  No
one will believe him."

"You--you can save him, then?" she gasped, joyously.

"If he will permit me to do so.  Write to him what you will, your
Highness, and he shall have the message.  Be brave and all will
go well.  Write quickly!  This is supposed to be the pardon."

She wrote feverishly, a thousand thoughts arising for every one
that she was able to transfer to the paper.  When she had
finished the hope-inspired scrawl she arose and, with a gracious
smile, handed to the waiting captain the pardon for those who had
secreted the fugitive.

"I grant forgiveness to them gladly," she said.

"I thank you," said Lorry, bowing low.

"Mr. Lorry, I regret the difficulty in which you find yourself.
It was on my account, too, I am told.  Be you guilty or innocent,
you are my friend, my protector.  May God be good to you."  She
gave him her hand calmly, steadily, as if she were bestowing
favor upon a subject.  He kissed the hand gravely.

"Forgive me for trespassing on your good nature tonight, your
Highness.

"The five thousand gavvos shall be yours tomorrow, Captain
Quinnox," she said, graciously.  "You have done your duty well."
The faithful captain bowed deep and low and a weight was lifted
from his conscience.

"Gentlemen, the door," he said, and without a word the trio left
the room.  She closed the door and stood like a statue until
their footsteps died away in the distance.  As one in a daze she
sat at the desk till the dawn, Grenfall Lorry's revolver lying
before her.

Through the halls, down the stairs and into the clammy dungeon
strode the silent trio.

But before Lorry stepped inside the cell Gabriel asked a question
that had been troubling him for many minutes.

"I am afraid I have--ah--misjudged her," muttered Gabriel, now
convinced that he had committed himself irretrievably.

"You will find she has not misjudged you," said the prisoner,
grimly.  "Can't I have a candle in here, captain?"

"You may keep this lantern," said Quinnox, stepping inside the
narrow cell.  As he placed the lantern on the floor he whispered:
"I will return in an hour.  Read this!"  Lorry's hand closed over
the bit of perfumed paper.

The Prince was now inside the cell, peering about curiously, even
timorously.  "By the way, your Highness, how would you enjoy
living in a hole like this all your life?"

"Horrible!" said Gabriel, shuddering like a leaf.

"Then take my advice: don't commit any murders.  Hire some one
else."

The two men eyed each other steadily for a moment or two.  Then
the Prince looked out of the cell, a mad desire to fly from some
dreadful, unseen horror coming over him.

Quinnox locked the door, and, striking a match, bade His Highness
precede him up the stone steps.

In the cell the prisoner read and reread the incoherent message
from Yetive:

"It is the only way.  Quinnox will assist you to escape to-night.
Go, I implore you; as you love me, go.  Your life is more than
all to me.  Gabriel's story will not be entertained and he can
have no proof.  He will be torn to pieces, Quinnox says.  I do
not know how I can live until I am certain you are safe.  This
will be the longest night a woman ever spent.  If I could only be
sure that you will do as I ask, as I beg and implore!  Do not
think of me, but save yourself.  I would lose everything to save
you."

He smiled sadly as he burned the "pardon."  The concluding
sentences swept away the last thought he might have had of
leaving her to bear the consequences.  "Do not think of me, but
save yourself.  I would lose everything to save you."  He leaned
against the stone wall and shook his head slowly, the smile still
on his lips.




XXV

"BECAUSE I LOVE HIM"


The next morning Edelweiss was astir early.  Great throngs of
people flocked the streets long before the hour set for the
signing of the decree that was to divide the north from the
south.  There were men and women from the mountains, from the
southern valleys, from the plains to the north and east.  Sullen
were the mutterings, threatening the faces, resentful the hearts
of those who crowded the shops, the public places and the
streets.  Before nine o'clock the great concourse of people began
to push toward the castle.  Castle Avenue was packed with the
moving masses.  Thousands upon thousands of this humbled race
gathered outside the walls, waiting for news from the castle with
the spark of hope that does not die until the very end, nursing
the possibility that something might intervene at the last moment
to save the country from disgrace and ruin.

A strong guard was required to keep the mob back from the gates,
and the force of men on the wall had been quadrupled.  Business
in
the city was suspended.  The whole nation, it seemed, stood
before the walls, awaiting, with bated breath and dismal faces,
the announcement that Yetive had deeded to Bolaroz the lands and
lives of half of her subjects.  The northern plainsmen who were
so soon to acknowledge Axphain sovereignty, wept and wailed over
their unhappy lot.  Brothers and sisters from the south cursed
and moaned in sympathy.

Shortly before nine o'clock, Harry Anguish, with his guard of
six, rode up to the castle.  Captain Dangloss was beside him on
his gray charger.  They had scarcely passed inside the gates when
a cavalcade of mounted men came riding up the avenue from the
Hotel Regengetz.  Then the howling, the hissing, the hooting
began.  Maledictions were hurled at the heads of Axphain noblemen
as they rode between the maddened lines of people.  They smiled
sardonically in reply to the impotent signs of hatred, but they
were glad when the castle gates closed between them and the vast,
despairing crowd, in which the tempest of revolt was brewing with
unmistakable energy.

Prince Bolaroz, the Duke of Mizrox and the ministers were already
in the castle and had been there since the previous afternoon.
In the royal palace the excitement was intense, but it was of the
subdued kind that strains the nerves to the point where control
is martyrdom.

When the attendants went to the bed chamber of the Princess at
seven o'clock, as was their wont, they found, to their surprise,
no one standing guard.

The Princess was not in her chamber, nor had she been there
during the night.  The bed was undisturbed.  In some alarm the
two women ran to her parlor, then to the boudoir.  Here they
found her asleep on the divan, attired in the gown she had worn
since the evening before, now crumpled and creased, the proof
positive of a restless, miserable night.

Her first act after awakening and untangling the meshes in her
throbbing, uncomprehending brain, was to send for Quinnox.  She
could scarcely wait for his appearance and the assurance that
Lorry was safely out of danger.  The footman who had been sent to
fetch the captain was a long time in returning.  She was dressed
in her breakfast gown long before he came in with the report that
the captain was nowhere to be found.  Her heart gave a great
throb of joy.  She alone could explain his absence.  To her it
meant but one thing: Lorry's flight from the castle.  Where else
could Quinnox be except with the fugitive, perhaps once more
inside St. Valentine's?  With the great load of suspense off her
mind she cared not for the trials that still confronted her on
that dreaded morning.  She had saved him, and she was willing to
pay the price.

Preparations began at once for the eventful transaction in the
throne room.  The splendor of two Courts was to shine in rivalry.
Ten o'clock was the hour set for the meeting of the two rulers,
the victor and the victim.  Her nobles and her ladies, her
ministers, her guards and her lackeys moved about in the halls,
dreading the hour, brushing against the hated Axphain guests.  In
one of the small waiting rooms sat the Count and Countess
Halfont, the latter in tears.  The young Countess Dagmar stood at
a window with Harry Anguish.  The latter was flushed and nervous
and acted like a man who expects that which is unexpected by
others.  With a strange confidence in his voice, he sought to
cheer his depressed friends, but the cheerfulness was not
contagious.  The sombreness of a burial hung over the castle.

Half an hour before the time set for the meeting in the throne
room Yetive sent for her uncle, her aunt and Dagmar.  As Anguish
and the latter followed the girl turned her sad, puzzled eyes up
to the face of the tall American and asked:

"Are you rejoicing over our misfortune?  You do not show a
particle of regret.  Do you forget that we are sacrificing a
great deal to save the life of your friend?  I do not understand
how you can be so heartless."

"If you knew what I know you'd jump so high you could crack those
pretty heels of yours together ten times before you touched the
floor again," said he, warmly.

"Please tell me," she cried.  "I knew there was something."

"But I am afraid so high a jump would upset you for the day.  You
must wait awhile, Dagmar."  It was the first time he had called
her Dagmar, and she looked startled.

"I am not used to waiting," she said, confusedly.

"I think I can explain satisfactorily when I have more time," he
said, softly in her ear, and, although she tried, she could find
no words to continue.  He left her at the head of the stairs, and
did not see her again until she passed him in the throne room.
Then she was pale and brave and trembling.

Prince Bolaroz and his nobles stood to the right of the throne,
the Graustark men and women of degree to the left, while near the
door, on both sides were to be seen the leading military men of
both principalities.  Near the Duke of Mizrox was stationed the
figure of Gabriel, Prince of Dawsbergen.  He had come, with a
half dozen followers, among a crowd of unsuspecting Axphainians,
and had taken his position near the throne.  Anguish entered with
Baron Dangloss and they stood together near the doorway, the
latter whiter than he had ever been in his life.

Then came the hush of expectancy.  The doors swung open, the
curtains parted and the Princess entered.

She was supported by the arm of her tall uncle, Caspar of
Halfont.  Pages carried the train of her dress, a jeweled gown of
black.  As she advanced to the throne, calm and stately, those
assembled bent knee to the fairest woman the eye ever had looked
upon.

The calm, proud exterior hid the most unhappy of hearts.  The
resolute courage with which her spirit had been braced for the
occasion was remarkable in more ways than one.  Among other
inspirations behind the valiant show was the bravery of a guilty
conscience.  Her composure sustained a shock when she passed
Allode at the door.  That faithful, heart-broken servitor looked
at her face with pleading, horror-struck eyes as much as to say:
"Good God, are you going to destroy Graustark for the sake of
that murderer?  Have pity on us--have pity!"

Before taking her seat on the throne, she swept the thrilled
assemblage with her wide blue eyes.  There were shadows beneath
them and there were wells of tears behind them.  As she looked
upon the little knot of white-faced northern barons, her knees
trembled and her heart gave a great throb of pity.  Still the
face was resolute.  Then she saw Anguish and the suffering
Dangloss; then the accusing, merciless eyes of Gabriel.  At sight
of him she started violently and an icy fear crept into her soul.
Instinctively she searched the gorgeous company for the captain
of the guard.  Her staunchest ally was not there.  Was she to
hear the condemning words alone?  Would the people do as Quinnox
had prophesied, or would they believe Gabriel and curse her?

She sank into the great chair and sat with staring, helpless
eyes, deserted and feeble.

At last the whirling brain ended its flight and settled down to
the issue first at hand-the transaction with Bolaroz.  Summoning
all her self-control, she said:

"You are come, most noble Bolaroz, to draw from us the price of
our defeat.  We are loyal to our compact, as you are to yours,
sire.  Yet, in the presence of my people and in the name of mercy
and justice, I ask you to grant us respite.  You are rich and
powerful, we despoiled and struggling beneath a weight we can
lift and displace if given a few short years in which to grow and
gather strength.  At this last hour in the fifteen years of our
indebtedness, I sue in supplication for the leniency that you can
so well accord.  It is on the advice of my counsellors that I put
away personal pride and national dignity to make this request,
trusting to your goodness of heart.  If you will not hearken to
our petition for a renewal of negotiations, there is but one
course open to Graustark.  We can and will pay our debt of
honor."

Bolaroz stood before her, dark and uncompromising.  She saw the
futility of her plea.

"I have not forgotten, most noble petitioner, that you are ruler
here, not I.  Therefore I am in no way responsible for the
conditions which confront you, except that I am an honest
creditor, come for his honest dues.  This is the twentieth of
November.  You have had fifteen years to accumulate enough to
meet the requirements of this day.  Should I suffer for your
faults?  There is in the treaty a provision which applies to an
emergency of this kind.  Your inability to liquidate in gold does
not prevent the payment of this honest debt in land, as provided
for in the sixth clause of the agreement.  'All that part of
Graustark north of a line drawn directly from east to west
between the provinces of Ganlook and Doswan, a tract comprising
Doswan, Shellotz, Varagan, Oeswald, Sesmai and Gattabatton.'  You
have two alternatives, your Highness.  Produce the gold or sign
the decree ceding to Axphain the lands stipulated in the treaty.
I can grant no respite."

You knew when that treaty was framed that we could raise no such
funds in fifteen years," said Halfont, forgetting himself in his
indignation.  Gaspon and other men present approved his hasty
declaration.

"Am I dealing with the Princess of Graustark or with you, sir?"
asked Bolaroz, roughly.

You are dealing with the people of Graustark, and among the
poorest, I.  I will sign the decree.  There is nothing to be
gained by appealing to you.  The papers, Gaspon, quick!  I would
have this transaction finished speedily," cried the Princess, her
cheeks flushing and her eyes glowing from the flames of a burning
conscience.  The groan that went up from the northern nobles cut
her like the slash of a knife.

"There was one other condition," said Bolaroz, hastily, unable to
gloat as he had expected.  "The recapture of the assassin who
slew my son would have meant much to Graustark.  It is
unfortunate that your police department is so inefficient."
Dangloss writhed beneath this thrust.  Yetive's eyes went to him,
for an instant, sorrowfully.  Then they dropped to the fatal
document which Gaspon had placed on the table before her.  The
lines ran together and were the color of blood.  Unconsciously
she took the pen in her nerveless fingers.  A deep sob came from
the breast of her gray old uncle, and Gaspon's hand shook like a
leaf as he placed the seal of Graustark on the table, ready for
use.

"The assassin's life could have saved you," went on Bolaroz, a
vengeful glare coming to his eyes.

She looked up and her lips moved as if she would have spoken.  No
words came, no breath, it seemed to her.  Casting a piteous,
hunted glance over the faces before her, she bent forward and
blindly touched the pen to the paper.  The silence was that of
death.  Before she could make the first stroke, a harsh voice, in
which there was combined triumph and amazement, broke the
stillness like the clanging of a bell.

"Have you no honor?"

The pen dropped from her fingers as the expected condemnation
came.  Every eye in the house was turned toward the white,
twitching face of Gabriel of Dawsbergen.  He stood a little apart
from his friends, his finger pointed throneward.  The Princess
stared at the nemesis-like figure for an instant, as if
petrified.  Then the pent-up fear crowded everything out of its
path.  In sheer desperation, her eyes flashing with the intensity
of defiant guilt, bitter rage welling up against her persecutor,
she half arose and cried:

"Who uttered those words?  Speak!"

"I, Gabriel of Dawsbergen!  Where is the prisoner, madam?" rang
out the voice.

"The man is mad!" cried she, sinking back with a shudder.

"Mad, eh?  Because I do as I did promise?  Behold the queen of
perfidy!  Madam, I will be heard.  Lorry is in this castle!"

"He is mad!" gasped Bolaroz, the first of the stunned spectators
to find his tongue.

There was a commotion near the door.  Voices were heard outside.

"You have been duped!" insisted Gabriel, taking several steps
toward the throne.  "Your idol is a traitress, a deceiver!  I say
he is here!  She has seen him.  Let her sign that decree if she
dares!  I command you, Yetive of Graustark, to produce this
criminal!"

The impulse to crush the defiler was checked by the sudden
appearance of two men inside the curtains.

"He is here!" cried a strong voice, and Lorry, breathless and
haggard, pushed through the astonished crowd, followed by Captain
Quinnox, upon whose ghastly face there were bloodstains.

A shout went up from those assembled, a shout of joy.  The faces
of Dangloss and Allode were pictures of astonishment and--it must
be said--relief.  Harry Anguish staggered but recovered himself
instantly, and turned his eyes toward Gabriel.  That worthy's
legs trembled and his jaw dropped.

"I have the prisoner, your Highness," said Quinnox, in hoarse,
discordant tones.  He stood before the throne with his captive,
but dared not look his mistress in the face.  As they stood there
the story of the night just passed was told by the condition of
the two men.  There had been a struggle for supremacy in the
dungeon and the prisoner had won.  The one had tried to hold the
other to the dungeon's safety, after his refusal to leave the
castle, and the other had fought his way to the halls above.  It
was then that Quinnox had wit enough to change front and drag his
prisoner to the place which, most of all, he had wished to avoid.

"The prisoner!" shouted the northern nobles, and in an instant
the solemn throne room was wild with excitement.

"Do not sign that decree!" cried some one from a far corner.

"Here is your man, Prince Bolaroz!" cried a baron.

"Quinnox has saved us!" shouted another.

The Princess, white as death and as motionless, sat bolt upright
in her royal seat.

"Oh!" she moaned, piteously, and, clenching her hands, she
carried them to her eyes as if to shut out the sight.  The
Countess Halfont and Dagmar ran to her side, the latter frantic
with alarm.  She knew more than the others.

"Are you the fugitive?" cried Bolaroz.

I am Grenfall Lorry.  Are you Bolaroz?'

"The father of the man you murdered.  Ah, this is rapture!"

"I have only to say to your Highness, I did not kill your son.  I
swear it, so help me God!"

"Your Highness," cried Bolaroz, stepping to the throne, "destroy
that decree.  This brave soldier has saved Graustark.  In an hour
your ministers and mine will have drawn up a ten Tears' extension
of time, in proper form, to which my signature shall be gladly
attached.  I have not forgotten my promise."

Yetive straightened suddenly, seized the pen and fiercely began
to sign the decree, in spite of all and before those about her
fairly realized her intention.  Lorry understood, and was the
first to snatch the document from her hands.  A half-written
Yetive, a blot and a long, spluttering scratch of the pen told
how near she had come to signing away the lands of Graustark,
forgetful of the fact that it could be of no benefit to the
prisoner she loved.

"Yetive!" gasped her uncle, in horror.

"She would have signed," cried Gaspon, in wonder and alarm.

"Yes, I would have signed!" she exclaimed, starting to her feet,
strong and defiant.  "I could not have saved his life, perhaps,
but I might have saved him from the cruel injustice that that
man's vengeance would have invented.  He is innocent, and I would
give my kingdom to stay the wrong that will be done."

"What!  You defend the dog!" cried Bolaroz.  "Seize him, men!  I
will see that justice is done.  It is no girl he has to deal with
now."

"Stop!" cried the Princess, the command checking the men.
Quinnox leaped in front of his charge.  "He is my prisoner, and
he shall have justice.  Keep back your soldiery, Prince Bolaroz.
It is a girl you have to deal with.  I will say to you all, my
people and yours, that I believe him to be innocent and that I
sincerely regret his capture, fortunate as it may be for us.  He
shall have a fair and a just trial, and I shall do all in my
power, Prince Bolaroz, to secure his acquittal."

"Why do you take this stand, Yetive?  Why have you tried to
shield him?" cried the heartbroken Halfont.

She drew herself to her full height, and, sweeping the
threatening crowd with a challenge in her eyes, cried, the tones
ringing strong and clear above the growing tumult:

"Because I love him!"

As if by magic the room became suddenly still.

"Behold an honest man.  I would have saved him at the cost of my
honor.  Scorn me if you will, but listen to this.  The man who
stands here accused came voluntarily to this castle, surrendering
himself to Captain Quinnox, that he might, though innocent, stand
between us and disaster.  He was safe from our pursuit, yet
returned, perhaps to his death.  For me, for you and for
Graustark he has done this.  Is there a man among you who would
have done as much for his own country?  Yet he does this for a
country to which he is stranger.  I must commit him to prison
once more.  But," she cried in sudden fierceness, "I promise him
now, before the trial, a royal pardon.  Do I make my meaning
clear to you, Prince Bolaroz?"

The white lips of the old Prince could frame no reply to this
daring speech.

"Be careful whet you say, your Highness," cried the prisoner,
hastily.  "I must refuse to accept a pardon at the cost of your
honor.  It is because I love you better than my life that I stand
here.  I cannot allow you and your people to suffer when it is in
my power to prevent it.  All that I can ask is fairness and
justice.  I am not guilty, and God will protect me.  Prince
Bolaroz, I call upon you to keep your promise.  I am not the
slayer of your son, but I am the man you would send to the block,
guilty or innocent."

As he spoke, the Princess dropped back in the chair, her rash
courage gone.  A stir near the doorway followed his concluding
sentence, and the other American stepped forward, his face
showing his excitement.

"Your Highness," he said, "I should have spoken sooner.  My lips
were parted and ready to cry out when Prince Gabriel interposed
and prevented the signing of the decree.  Grenfall Lorry did not
kill the young Prince.  I can produce the guilty man!"




XXVI

THE GUESSING OF ANGUISH


The startling assertion created a fresh sensation.  Sensations
had come so thick and so fast, however, that they seemed
component parts of one grand bewildering climax.  The new actor
in the drama held the center of the stage undisputed.

"Harry!" cried Lorry.

"Prince Gabriel, why do you shake like a leaf?  Is it because you
know what I am going to say?" exclaimed Anguish, pointing his
finger accusingly at the astonished Prince of Dawsbergen.

Gabriel's lips parted, but nothing more than a gasp escaped them.
Involuntarily his eyes sought the door, then the windows, the
peculiar uncontrollable look of the hunted coming into them.
Bolaroz allowed his gaze to leap instantly to that pallid face
and every eye in the room followed.  Yetive was standing again,
her face glowing.

"An accomplice has confessed all.  I have the word of the man who
saw the crime committed.  I charge Prince Gabriel with the murder
of His Highness, Prince Lorenz."

With a groan, Gabriel threw his hands to his heart and tottered
forward, glaring at the merciless face of the accuser.

"Confessed!  Betrayed!" he faltered.  Then he whirled like a
maniac upon his little coterie of followers.  "Vile traitor!" he
shrieked, "I will drink your heart's blood!"

With a howl he leaped toward one of the men, a darkfaced nobleman
named Berrowag.  The latter evaded him and rushed toward the
door, crying:

"It is a lie!  a lie!  He has tricked you!  I did not confess!"

The Prince was seized by his friends, struggling and cursing.  A
peculiar smile lit up the face of Harry Anguish.

"I repeat, he is the assassin!"

Gabriel broke from the detaining hands and drawing a revolver,
rushed for the door.

"Out of the way!  I will not be taken alive!"

Allode met him at the curtains and grasped him in his powerful
arms, Baron Dangloss and others tearing the weapon from his hand.
The utmost confusion reigned--women screaming, men shouting--and
above all could be heard the howls of the accused Prince.

"Let me go!  Curse you!  Curse you!  I will not surrender!  Let
me kill that traitor!  Let me at him!"  Berrowag had been seized
by willing hands, and the two men glared at each other, one crazy
with rage, the other shrinking with fear.

Dangloss and Allode half carried, half dragged the Prince
forward.  As he neared Bolaroz and the Princess he collapsed and
became a trembling, moaning suppliant for mercy.  Anguish's
accusation had struck home.

"Prince Bolaroz, I trust you will not object if the Princess
Yetive substitutes the true assassin for the man named in your
promise to Graustark," said Anguish, dramatically.  Bolaroz, as
if coming from a dream, turned and knelt before the throne.

"Most adorable Yetive," he said; "I sue for pardon.  I bow low
and lay my open heart before the truest woman in the world."  He
kissed the black lace hem of her gown and arose.  "I am your
friend and ally; Axphain and Graustark will live no more with
hatred in their hearts.  From you I have learned a lesson in
justice and constancy."

Prince Gabriel was raving like a madman as the officers hurried
him and Berrowag from the room.  A shout went up from those
assembled.  Its echo, reaching the halls, then the gardens, was
finally taken up by the waiting masses beyond the gates.  The
news flew like wild-fire.  Rejoicing, such as had never been
known, shook Edelweiss until the monks on the mountain looked
down in wonder.

After the dazed and happy throng about the throne had heaped its
expressions of love and devotion upon the radiant Princess a
single figure knelt in subjection, just as she was preparing to
depart.  It was the Duke of Mizrox.

"Your Royal Highness, Mizrox is ready to pay his forfeit.  My
life is yours," he said, calmly.  She did not comprehend until
her uncle reminded her of the oath Mizrox had taken the morning
after the murder.

"He swore, on his life, that you killed Lorenz," she said,
turning to Lorry.

"I was wrong, but I am willing to pay the penalty.  My love for
Lorenz was greater than my discretion.  That is my only excuse,
but it is one you should not accept," said Mizrox, as coolly as
if announcing the time of day.  Lorry looked first at him and
then at the Princess, bewildered and uncertain.

"I have no ill will against you, my Lord Duke.  Release him from
his bond your Highness."

"Gladly, since you refuse to hold him to his oath," she said.

"I am under an eternal obligation to you, sir, for your leniency,
and I shall ever revere the Princess who pardons so graciously
the gravest error."

Yetive begged Bolaroz to continue to make the Court his home
while in Graustark, and the old Prince responded with the
declaration that he would remain long enough to sign and approve
the new covenant, at least.  Before stepping from the throne,
Yetive called in low tones to Lorry, a pretty flush mantling her
cheek:

"Will you come to me in half an hour?"

"For my reward?" he asked, eagerly.

"Ach?" she cried, softly, reprovingly.  Count Halfont's face took
on a troubled expression as he caught the swift communication in
their eyes.  After all, she was a Princess.

She passed from the room beside Halfont, proud and happy in the
victory over despair, glorying in the exposure of her heart to
the world, her blood tingling and dancing with the joys of
anticipation.  Lorry and Anguish, the wonder and admiration of
all, were given a short but convincing levee in the hallway.
Lords and ladies praised and lauded them, overwhelming them with
the homage that comes to the brave.  But Gaspon uttered one wish
that struck Lorry's warm, leaping heart like a piece of ice.

"Would to God that you were a Prince of the realm," said the
minister of finance, a look of regret and longing in his eyes.
That wish of Gaspon's sent Lorry away with the sharp steel of
desolation, torturing intensely as it drove deeper and deeper the
reawakened pangs of uncertainty.  There still remained the fatal
distance between him and the object of his heart's desire.

He accompanied Captain Quinnox to his quarters, where he made
himself presentable before starting for the enchanted apartment
in the far end of the castle.  Eager, burning passion throbbed
side by side with the cold pulsing of fear, a trembling race
between two unconquerable emotions.  Passion longed for the
voice, the eyes, the caresses; fear cried aloud in every troubled
throb: "You will see her and kiss her and then you will be
banished."

The two emotions thus thrown together, clashing fiercely for
supremacy, at last wove themselves into a single, solid,
uncompromising whole.  Out of the two grew an aggressive
determination not to be thwarted.  Love and fear combined to give
him strength; from his eyes fled the hopeless look, from his
brain the doubt, from his blood the chill.

"Quinnox, give me your hand--don't mind the blood!  You have been
my friend, and you have served her almost to the death.  I
injured and would have killed you in that cell, but it was not in
anger.  Will you be my friend in all that is to follow?"

"She has said that she loves you," said the captain, returning
the hand clasp.  "I am at your service as well as hers."

A few moments later Lorry was in her presence.  What was said or
done during the half hour that passed between his entrance and
the moment that brought them side by side from the room need not
be told.  That the interview had had its serious side was plain.
The troubled, anxious eyes of the girl and the rebellious, dogged
air of the man told of a conflict now only in abeyance.

"I will never give you up," he said, as they came from the door.
A wistful gleam flickered in her eyes, but she did not respond in
words.

Near the head of the stairway an animated group of persons
lingered.  Harry Anguish was in the center and the Countess
Dagmar was directly in front of him, looking up with sparkling
eyes and parted lips.  The Count and Countess Halfont, Gaspon,
the Baron Dangloss, the Duke of Mizrox, with other ladies and
gentlemen, were being entertained by the gay-spirited stranger.

Here he comes," cried the latter, as he caught sight of the
approaching couple.

"I am delighted to see you, Harry.  You were the friend in need,
old man," said Lorry, wringing the other's hand.  Yetive gave him
her hand, her blue eyes overflowing.

"Mr. Anguish had just begun to tell us how he--how he--" began
Dagmar, but paused helplessly, looking to him for relief.

"Go ahead, Countess; it isn't very elegant, but it's the way I
said it.  How I 'got next' to Gabriel is what she wants to say.
Perhaps your Highness would like to know all about the affair
that ended so tragically.  It's very quickly told," said Anguish.

"I am deeply interested," said the Princess, eagerly.

"Well, in the first place, it was all a bluff," said he, coolly.

"A what!" demanded Dagmar.

"Bluff," responded Harry, briefly; "American patois, dear
Countess."

"In what respect," asked Lorry, beginning to understand.

"In all respects.  I didn't have the slightest sign of proof
against the festive Prince."

"And you--you did all that 'on a bluff'?" gasped the other.

"Do I understand you to say that you have no evidence against
Gabriel?" asked Halfont, dumbfounded.

"Not a particle."

"But you said his confederate had confessed," protested Dangloss.

"I didn't know that he had a confederate, and I wasn't sure that
he was guilty of the crime," boasted Anguish, complacently
enjoying the stupefaction.

"Then why did you say so?" demanded Dangloss, excited beyond
measure.

"Oh, I just guessed at it!"

"God save us!" gasped Baron Dangloss, Chief of Police.

"Guessed at it?" cried Mizrox.

"That's it.  It was a bold stroke, but it won.  Now, I'll tell
you this much.  I was morally certain that Gabriel killed the
Prince.  There was no way on earth to prove it, however, and I'll
admit it was intuition or something of that sort which convinced
me.  He had tried to abduct the Princess, and he was madly
jealous of Lorenz.  Although he knew there was to be a duel, he
was not certain that Lorenz would lose, so he adopted a clever
plan to get rid of two rivals by killing one and casting
suspicion on the other.  These deductions I made soon after the
murder, but, of course, could secure no proof.  Early this
morning, at the hotel, I made up my mind to denounce him suddenly
if I had the chance, risking failure but hoping for such an
exhibition as that which you saw.  It was clear to me that he had
an accomplice to stand guard while he did the stabbing, but I did
not dream it was Berrowag.  Lorry's sensational appearance, when
I believed him to be far away from here, disturbed me greatly but
it made it all the more necessary that I should take the risk
with Gabriel.  As I watched him I became absolutely convinced of
his guilt.  The only way to accuse him was to do it boldly and
thoroughly, so I rang in the accomplice and the witness features.
You all know how the 'bluff' worked."

"And you had no more proof than this?" asked Dangloss, weakly.

"That's all," laughed the delighted strategist.

Dangloss stared at him for a moment, then threw up his hands and
walked away, shaking his head, whether in stupefied admiration or
utter disbelief, no one knew.  The others covered Anguish with
compliments, and he was more than ever the hero of the day.  Such
confidence paralyzed the people.  The only one who was not
overcome with astonishment was his countryman.

"You did it well," he said in an undertone to Anguish; "devilish
well."

"You might at least say I did it to the queen's taste," growled
Anguish, meaningly,

"Well, then, you did," laughed Lorry.




XXVII

ON THE BALCONY AGAIN


Three persons in the royal castle of Graustark, worn by the dread
and anxiety of weeks, fatigued by the sleepless nights just past,
slumbered through the long afternoon with the motionless,
deathlike sleep of the utterly fagged.  Yetive, in her darkened
bed chamber, dreamed, with smiling lips, of a tall soldier and a
throne on which cobwebs multiplied.  Grenfall Lorry saw in his
dreams a slim soldier with troubled face and averted, timid eyes,
standing guard over him with a brave, stiff back and chin
painfully uplifted.  Captain Quinnox dreamed not, for his mind
was tranquil in the assurance that he had been forgiven by the
Princess.

While Lorry slept in the room set apart for him, Anguish roamed
the park with a happy-faced, slender young lady, into whose ears
he poured the history of a certain affection, from the tender
beginning to the distracting end.  And she smiled and trembled
with delight, closing not her ears against the sound of his voice
nor her heart to the love that craved admission.  They were not
dreaming.

After dinner that evening Lorry led the Princess out into the
moonlit night.  The November breezes were soft and balmy and the
shadows deep.

"Let us leave the park to Dagmar and her hero, to the soldiers
and the musicians," said Yetive.  "There is a broad portico here,
with the tenderest of memories.  Do you remember a night like
this, a month or more ago?  the moon, the sentinel and some
sorrows?  I would again stand where we stood on that night and
again look up to the moon and the solemn sentinel, but not as we
saw them then, with heartache and evasion."

"The balcony, then, without the old restrictions," Lorry agreed.
"I want to see that dark old monastery again, and to tell you how
I looked from its lofty windows through the chill of wind and the
chill of life into the fairest Eden that was ever denied man."

"In an hour, then, I will meet you there."

"I must correct you.  In an hour you will find me there."

She left him, retiring with her aunt and the Countess Dagmar.
Lorry remained in the hall with Halfont, Prince Bolaroz, Mizrox
and Anguish.  The conversation ran once more into the ever-recurring
topic of the day, Gabriel's confession.  The Prince of Dawsbergen
was confined in the Tower with his confederate, Berrowag.
Reports from Dangloss late in the afternoon conveyed the
intelligence that the prisoner had fallen into melancholia.
Berrowag admitted to the police that he had stood guard at the
door while Gabriel entered the Prince's room and killed him as he
slept.  He described the cunning, deliberate effort to turn
suspicion to the American by leaving bloodstains.  The other
Dawsbergen nobles, with the exception of two who had gone to the
capital of their country with the news of the catastrophe,
remained close to the hotel.  One of them confessed that but
little sympathy would be felt at home for Gabriel, who was hated
by his subjects.  Already there was talk among them of Prince
Dantan, his younger brother, as his successor to the throne.
The young Prince was a favorite with the people.

Bolaroz was pleased with the outcome of the sensational
accusation and the consequent removal of complications which had
in reality been unpleasant to him.

One feature of the scene in the throne room was not discussed,
although it was uppermost in the minds of all.  The positive
stand taken by the Princess and her open avowal of love for the
dashing American were never to be forgotten.  The serious
wrinkles on the brow of Halfont and the faraway expression that
came frequently to his eyes revealed the nature of his thoughts.
The greatest problem of them all was still to be solved.

As they left the room he dropped behind and walked out beside
Lorry, rather timidly detaining him until the others were some
distance ahead.

"You were closeted with the Princess this morning, Mr. Lorry, and
perhaps you can give me the information I desire.  She has called
a meeting of the ministers and leading men of the country for
to-morrow morning.  Do you know why she has issued this
rather unusual call?  She did not offer any explanation to me."

"I am only at liberty to say, your excellency, that it concerns
the welfare of Graustark," answered the other, after a moment's
thought.  They walked on in silence for some distance.

"I am her uncle, sir, but I love her as I would love my own
child.  My life has been given to her from the day that her
mother, my sister, died.  You will grant me the right to ask you
a plain question.  Have you told her that you love her?"  The
Count's face was drawn and white.

"I have, sir.  I loved her before I knew she was a Princess.  As
her protector, it was to you that I would have told the story of
my unfortunate love long ago, but my arrest and escape prevented.
It was not my desire or intention to say to her what I could not
speak about to you.  I do not want to be looked upon as a coward
who dares not face difficulties.  My love has not been willingly
clandestine, and it has been in spite of her most righteous
objections.  We have both seen the futility of love, however
strong and pure it may be.  I have hoped, your excellency, and
always shall."

"She has confessed her love to you privately?" asked Halfont.

"Against her will, against her judgment, sir."

"Then the worst has come to pass," groaned the old Count.
Neither spoke for some time.  They were near the foot of the
staircase when Halfont paused and grasped Lorry's arm.  Steadily
they looked into each other's eyes.

"I admire you more than any man I have ever known," said the
Count, huskily, "You are the soul of honor, of courage, of
manliness.  But, my God, you cannot become the husband of a
Princess of Graustark!  I need not tell you that, however.  You
surely must understand."

"I do understand," said Lorry, dizzily.  "I am not a prince, as
you are saying over and over again to yourself.  Count Halfont,
every born American may become ruler of the greatest nation in
the world-the United States.  His home is his kingdom; his wife,
his mother, his sisters are his queens and his princesses; his
fellow citizens are his admiring subjects if he is wise and good.
In my land you will find the poor man climbing to the highest
pinnacle, side by side with the rich man.  The woman I love is a
Princess.  Had she been the lowliest maid in all that great land
of ours, still would she have been my queen, I her king.  When
first I loved the mistress of Graustark she was, you must not
forget, Miss Guggenslocker.  I have said all this to you, sir,
not in egotism nor in bitterness, but to show my right to hope in
the face of all obstacles.  We recognize little as impossible.
Until death destroys this power to love and to hope I must say to
you that I shall not consider the Princess Yetive beyond my
reach.  Frankly, I cannot, sir."

The Count heard him through, unconscious admiration mingling with
the sadness in his eyes.

"There are some obstacles that bravery and perseverance cannot
overcome, my friend," he said, slowly.  "One of them is fate."

"As fate is not governed by law or custom, I have the best reason
in the world to hope," said Lorry, yet modestly.

"I would indeed, sir, that you were a Prince of the realm,"
fervently cried the Count, and Lorry was struck by the fact that
he repeated, word for word, the wish Gaspon had uttered some
hours before.

By this time they were joined by the others, whereupon Grenfall
hurried eagerly to the balcony, conscious of being half an hour
early, but glad of the chance afforded for reflection and
solitude.  Sitting on the broad stone railing he leaned back
against a pillar and looked into the night for his thoughts.
Once more the moon was gleaming beyond St. Valentine's, throwing
against the sky a jagged silhouette of frowning angles, towering
gables and monstrous walls, the mountain and the monastery
blending into one great misty product of the vision.  Voices came
up from below, as they did on that night five weeks ago, bringing
the laughter and song of happy hearts.  Music swelled through the
park from the band gallery; from afar off came the sounds of
revelry.  The people of Edelweiss were rejoicing over the
unexpected deliverance from a fate so certain that the escape
seemed barely short of miraculous.

Every sound, every rustle of the wind through the plants that
were scattered over the balcony caused him to look toward the
door through which she must come to him.

At last she appeared, and he hastened to meet her.  As he took
her hands in his, she said softly, dreamily, looking over his
shoulder toward the mountain's crest:

"The same fair moon," and smiled into his eyes.

"The same fair maid and the same man," he added.  "I believe the
band is playing the same air; upon my soul, I do."

"Yes, the same air, La Paloma.  It is my lullaby.  Come, let us
walk.  I cannot sit quietly now.  Talk to me.  Let me listen and
be happy."

Slowly they paced the wide balcony, through the moonlight and the
shadows, her hand resting on his arm, his clasping it gently.
Love obstructs the flow of speech; the heart-beats choke back the
words and fill the throat.

Lorry talked but little, she not at all.  Times there were when;
they covered the full length of the balcony without a word.  And
yet they understood each other.  The mystic, the enchanting
silence of love was fraught with a conversation felt, not heard.

Why are you so quiet?" he asked, at last, stopping near the rail.

"I cannot tell you why.  It seems to me that I am afraid of you,"
she answered, a shy quaver in her voice.

"Afraid of me?  I don't understand."

"Nor do I.  You are not as you were before this morning.  You are
different--yes, you make me feel that I am weak and helpless and
that you can say to me 'come' and 'go' and I must obey.  Isn't it
odd that I, who have never known submissiveness, should so
suddenly find myself tyrannized?" she asked, smiling faintly.

"Shall I tell you why you are afraid of me?" he asked.

"You will say it is because I am forgetting to be a Princess."

"No; it is because you no longer look upon me as you did in other
days.  It is because I am a possibility, an entity instead of a
shadow.  Yesterday you were the Princess and looked down upon the
impossible suitor; to-day you find that you have given yourself
to him and that you do not regard the barrier as insurmountable.
You were not timid until you found your power to resist gone.
Today you admit that I may hope, and in doing so you open a gate
through the walls of your pride and prejudice that can never be
closed against the love within and the love without.  You are
afraid of me because I am no longer a dream, but a reality.  Am I
not right, Yetive?"

She looked out over the hazy, moonlit park.

"Yesterday I might have disputed all you say; to-day I can deny
nothing."

Leaning upon the railing, they fell into a silent study of the
parade ground and its strollers.  Their thoughts were not of the
walkers and chatterers, nor of the music, nor of the night.  They
were of the day to come.

"I shall never forget how you said 'because I love him,' this
morning, sweetheart," said Lorry, betraying his reflections.
"You defied the whole world in those four words.  They were worth
dying for."

"How could I help it?  You must not forget that you had just
leaped into the lion's den defenseless, because you loved me.
Could I deny you then?  Until that moment I had been the Princess
adamant; in a second's time you swept away every safeguard, every
battlement, and I surrendered as only a woman can.  But it really
sounded shocking, didn't it?  So theatrical."

"Don't look so distressed about it, dear.  You couldn't help it,
remember," he said, approvingly.

"Ach, I dread to-morrow's ordeal!" she said, and he felt the arm
that touched his own tremble.  "What will they say?  What will
they, do?"

"To-morrow will tell.  It means a great deal to both of us.  If
they will not submit--what then?"

"What then--what then?" she murmured, faintly.

Across the parade, coming from the direction of the fountain,
Harry Anguish and Dagmar were slowly walking.  They were very
close together, and his head was bent until it almost touched
hers.  As they drew nearer, the dreamy watchers on the balcony
recognized them.

"They are very happy," said Lorry, knowing that she was also
watching the strollers.

"They are so sure of each other," she replied, sadly.

When almost directly beneath the rail, the Countess glanced
upward, impelled by the strange instinct of an easily startled
love, confident that prying eyes were upon her.  She saw the dark
forms leaning over the rail and rather jerkily brought her
companion to a standstill and to a realization of his position.
Anguish turned his eyes aloft.

"Can you, fair maid, tell me the names of those beautiful stars I
see in the dark dome above?" he asked, in a loud, happy voice.
"Oh, can they be eyes?"

"Eyes, most noble sir," replied his companion.  "There are no
stars so bright."

"Methought they were diamonds in the sky at first.  Eyes like
those must belong to some divinity."

"They do, fair student, and to a divinity well worth worshiping.
I have heard it said that men offer themselves as sacrifices upon
her altars."

"Unless my telescope deceives me, I discern a very handsome
sacrifice up there, so I suppose the altar must be somewhere in
the neighborhood."

"Not a hand's breadth beneath her eyes," laughed the Countess, as
she fled precipitately up the steps, followed by the jesting
student.

"Beware of a divinity in wrath," came a sweet, clear voice from
the balcony, and Anguish called out from his safe retreat, like
the boy he was:

"Ah, who's afraid!"

The Princess was laughing softly, her eyes radiant as they met
those of her companion, amused yet grave.

"Does he have a care?" she asked.

"I fear not.  He loves a Countess."

"He has not to pay the price of ambition, then?" said she,
softly.

"Ambition is the cheapest article in the world," he said.  "It
concerns only a man's self."




XXVIII

THE MAID OF GRAUSTARK


Expectancy, concern, the dread of uncertainty marked the
countenances of Graustark's ministers and her chief men as they
sat in the council chamber on the day following, awaiting the
appearance of their Princess, at whose call they were
unexpectedly assembled.  More than two score eyes glanced
nervously toward the door from time to time.

All realized an emergency.  No sooner were they out of one
dilemma than another cast its prospects across their path,
creating the fear that rejoicing would be short.  While none knew
the nature of the business that called them together, each had a
stubborn suspicion that it related to the stirring declarations
of the day before.  Not one in that assembly but had heard the
vivid, soulful sentence from the throne.  Not one but wished in
secret as Gaspon and Halfont had wished in open speech.

When the Princess entered with the prime minister they narrowly
scanned the face so dear to them.  Determination and cowardice
were blended in the deep blue eyes, pride and dejection in the
firm step, strength and weakness in the loving smile she bestowed
upon the faithful counsellors.  After the greetings she requested
them to draw chairs about the great table.  Seating herself in
her accustomed seat, she gazed over the circle of anxious faces
and realized, more than at any time in her young life, that she
was frail and weak beyond all comparison.  How small she was to
rule over those strong, wise men of hers; how feeble the hand
that held the sceptre.

"My lords," she said, summoning all her strength of mind and
heart, "I am gratified to find you so ready to respond to the
call of your whimsical sovereign.  Yesterday you came with hearts
bowed down and in deepest woe.  To-day I assemble you here that I
may ask your advice concerning the events of that strange day.
Bolaroz will do as he has promised.  We are to have the extension
papers this afternoon, and Graustark may breathe again the
strong, deep breath of hope.  You well remember my attitude on
yesterday.  You were shocked, horrified, amazed by my seemingly
ignoble effort to preserve my preserver's life.  We will pass
over that, however.  It is to discuss my position that I have
called you here.  To begin, I would have sacrificed my kingdom,
as you know, to save him.  He was innocent and I loved him.  If,
on yesterday, I would not let my kingdom stand between me and my
love, I cannot do so to-day.  I have called you here to tell you,
my lords, that I have promised to become the wife of the man who
would have given his life for you and for me--that I love as a
woman, not as a Princess."

The silence of death stole into the room.  Every man's eyes were
glued upon the white face of the Princess and none could break
the spell.  They had expected it, yet the shock was overwhelming;
they had feared it, yet the announcement stupefied them.  She
looked straight before her, afraid to meet the eyes of her
subjects, knowing that sickening disapproval dwelt in them.  Not
a word was uttered for many seconds.  Then old Caspar's tense
muscles relaxed and his arms dropped limply from their crossed
position on his breast.

"My child, my child!" he cried, lifelessly.  "You cannot do this
thing!"

"But the people?" cried Gaspon, his eyes gleaming.  "You cannot
act against the will of the people.  Our laws, natural and
otherwise.  proscribe the very act you have in mind.  The
American cannot go upon our throne; no man, unless he be of royal
blood, can share it with you.  If you marry him the laws of our
land--you know them well--will prohibit us from recognizing the
marriage."

Knowing that, my lords, I have come to ask you to revise our
laws.  My throne will not be disgraced by the man I would have
share it with me."  She spoke as calmly as if she were making the
most trivial request instead of asking her ministers to overthrow
and undo the laws and customs of ages and of dynasties.

"The law of nature cannot be changed," muttered Caspar, as if to
himself.

"In the event that the custom cannot be changed, I shall be
compelled to relinquish my right to occupy the throne and to
depart from among you.  It would break my heart, my lords, to
resort to this monstrous sacrifice, but I love one man first, my
crown and my people after him."

"You would not leave us--you would not throw aside as despised
the crown your ancestors wore for centuries?" cried Gaspon.  "Is
your Royal Highness mad?"

The others were staring with open mouths and icy hearts.

"Yes, as much as it would grieve me, I would do all this," she
answered, firmly, not daring to look at her uncle.  She knew his
eyes were upon her and that condemnation lurked in their depths.
Her heart ached to turn to him with a prayer for forgiveness, but
there could be no faltering now.

"I ask you, my lords, to acknowledge the marriage of your ruler
to Grenfall Lorry.  I am to be his wife; but I entreat you to
grant me happiness without making me endure the misery that will
come to me if I desert my father's throne and the people who have
worshipped me and to whom I am bound by a tie that cannot be
broken.  I do not plead so much for the right to rule as I do for
the one who may rule after I am gone.  I want my own to follow me
on the throne of Graustark."

Then followed a long, animated discussion, growing brighter and
more hopeful as the speakers' willing hearts warmed to the
proposition.  Lorry was a favorite but he could not be their
prince.  Hereditary law prohibited.  Still his children if God
gave him children, might be declared rightful heirs to the throne
of their mother, the Princess.  The more they talked, the more
the problem seemed to solve itself.  Many times the Princess and
her wise men met and overcame obstacles, huge at first, minimized
in the end, all because they loved her and she loved them.  The
departure from traditionary custom, as suggested by the
Princess,--coupled with the threat to abdicate,--was the
weightiest, yet the most delicate question that had ever come
before the chief men of Graustark.  It meant the beginning of a
new line of princes, new life, new blood, a complete
transformation of order as it had come down through the reigns of
many Ganlooks.  For the first time in the history of the country
a woman was sovereign; for the first time there had been no
direct male heir to the throne.  With the death of old Prince
Ganlook the masculine side of the illustrious family ended.  No
matter whom his daughter took for a husband, the line was broken.
Why not the bold, progressive, rich American?  argued some.
Others fell in with the views of the few who first surrendered to
the will of Yetive, until at last but one remained in opposition.
Count Caspar held out until all were against him, giving way
finally in a burst of oratory which ended in tears and sobs and
which made the sense of the gathering unanimous.

The Princess Yetive won the day, so far as her own position was
concerned.  But, there was Lorry to be considered.

Mr. Lorry knows that I called you together in consultation, but
he does not know that I would have given up my crown for him.  I
dared not tell him that.  He knows only that I was to ask your
advice on the question of marriage, and that alone.  Last night
he told me he was confident you would agree to the union.  He is
an American, and does not appreciate the difficulties attending
such an espousal.  Over there distinction exists only in wealth
and intelligence--position, I believe they call it, but not such
as ours.  He is a strange man, and we have yet to consult him as
to the arrangement," she said to her lords, pursing her lips.
"I fear he will object to the plan we have agreed upon," she went on.
"He is sensitive, and it is possible he will not like the idea of
putting our marriage to the popular vote of the people."

"I insist, however, that the people be considered in the matter,"
said Gaspon.  "In three month's time the whole nation can say
whether it sanctions the revision of our laws of heredity.  It
would not be right or just for us to say who shall be their
future rulers, for all time to come, without consulting them."

"I have no hesitancy in saying that Graustark already idolizes
this brave American," said Halfont, warmly.  "He has won her
affection.  If the question is placed before the people to-morrow
in proper form, I will vouch for it that the whole nation will
rise and cry:
'Long live the Princess!  Long live the Prince Consort!'"


"Goin' back, I see," said Sitzky, the guard, some months later,
addressing a very busy young man, who was hurrying down the
platform of the Edelweiss railway station toward the special
train which was puffing impatiently.

"Hello, Sitzky!  Is it you?  I'm glad to see you again.  Yes, we
are going back to the land of the Stars and Stripes."  The
speaker was Mr. Anguish.

"You'll have fine company 's fer as Vienna, too.  D' you ever see
such a celebration's dey're havin' here to-day?  You'd t'ink d'
whole world was interested in d' little visit Her Royal Highness
is goin' to pay to Vienna.  Dummed if d' whole city, soldiers an'
all, ain't down here to see 'er off.  Look at d' crowd!  By
glory, I don't b'lieve we c'n pull d' train out of d' station.
'Quainted wid any of d' royal crowd?"

"Slightly," answered Anguish, smiling.  He was watching a trim
figure in a tailor-made gown as it approached, drawing apart from
the throng.  It was Mrs. Harry Van Brugh Anguish.

"Say, you must cut some ice wid dese people.  But dat's jest like
an American, dough," the little guard went on.  "De Princess
married an American an' dey say he's goin' to put d' crown away
where d' moths won't git at it an' take her over to live in
Washington fer six months.  Is it a sure t'ing?"

"That's right, Sitzky.  She's going back with us and then we're
coming back with her."

"Why don't he keep 'er over dere when he gits her dere?  What's
d' use--what's d' use?"

"Well, she's still the Princess of Graustark, you know, Sitzky.
She can't live always in America."

"Got to be here to hold her job, eh?"

"Inelegant but correct.  Now, look sharp!  Where do we find our
--Ah!"  His wife was with him and he forgot Sitzky.

The guard turned to watch the procession--a file of soldiers, a
cavalry troop, carriages and then--the carriage with spirited
horses and gay accoutrements.  It stopped with a jangle and a man
and woman descended.

"The Princess!" cried Sitzky.

"Long live the Princess!" cried the crowd.  "God save our
Yetive!"

Sitzky started as if shot, Raring at the tall man who approached
with the smiling Sovereign of Graustark.  "Well," he gasped,
"what d' you t'ink o' dat!"

The train that was to carry them out of the East into the West
puffed and snorted, the bell clanged, the people cheered, and
they were off.  Hours later, as the car whirled through the
Hungarian plain, Yetive, looking from her window, said in that
exquisite English which was her very own:

"Ah, the world, the dear world!  I am so sorry for queens!"




THE END






End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Graustark, by George Barr McCutcheon

*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GRAUSTARK ***

This file should be named grstk10.txt or grstk10.zip
Corrected EDITIONS of our eBooks get a new NUMBER, grstk11.txt
VERSIONS based on separate sources get new LETTER, grstk10a.txt



Project Gutenberg eBooks are often created from several printed
editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the US
unless a copyright notice is included.  Thus, we usually do not
keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition.

We are now trying to release all our eBooks one year in advance
of the official release dates, leaving time for better editing.
Please be encouraged to tell us about any error or corrections,
even years after the official publication date.

Please note neither this listing nor its contents are final til
midnight of the last day of the month of any such announcement.
The official release date of all Project Gutenberg eBooks is at
Midnight, Central Time, of the last day of the stated month.  A
preliminary version may often be posted for suggestion, comment
and editing by those who wish to do so.

Most people start at our Web sites at:
http://gutenberg.net or
http://promo.net/pg

These Web sites include award-winning information about Project
Gutenberg, including how to donate, how to help produce our new
eBooks, and how to subscribe to our email newsletter (free!).


Those of you who want to download any eBook before announcement
can get to them as follows, and just download by date.  This is
also a good way to get them instantly upon announcement, as the
indexes our cataloguers produce obviously take a while after an
announcement goes out in the Project Gutenberg Newsletter.

http://www.ibiblio.org/gutenberg/etext03 or
ftp://ftp.ibiblio.org/pub/docs/books/gutenberg/etext03

Or /etext02, 01, 00, 99, 98, 97, 96, 95, 94, 93, 92, 92, 91 or 90

Just search by the first five letters of the filename you want,
as it appears in our Newsletters.


Information about Project Gutenberg (one page)

We produce about two million dollars for each hour we work.  The
time it takes us, a rather conservative estimate, is fifty hours
to get any eBook selected, entered, proofread, edited, copyright
searched and analyzed, the copyright letters written, etc.   Our
projected audience is one hundred million readers.  If the value
per text is nominally estimated at one dollar then we produce $2
million dollars per hour in 2002 as we release over 100 new text
files per month:  1240 more eBooks in 2001 for a total of 4000+
We are already on our way to trying for 2000 more eBooks in 2002
If they reach just 1-2% of the world's population then the total
will reach over half a trillion eBooks given away by year's end.

The Goal of Project Gutenberg is to Give Away 1 Trillion eBooks!
This is ten thousand titles each to one hundred million readers,
which is only about 4% of the present number of computer users.

Here is the briefest record of our progress (* means estimated):

eBooks Year Month

    1  1971 July
   10  1991 January
  100  1994 January
 1000  1997 August
 1500  1998 October
 2000  1999 December
 2500  2000 December
 3000  2001 November
 4000  2001 October/November
 6000  2002 December*
 9000  2003 November*
10000  2004 January*


The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation has been created
to secure a future for Project Gutenberg into the next millennium.

We need your donations more than ever!

As of February, 2002, contributions are being solicited from people
and organizations in: Alabama, Alaska, Arkansas, Connecticut,
Delaware, District of Columbia, Florida, Georgia, Hawaii, Illinois,
Indiana, Iowa, Kansas, Kentucky, Louisiana, Maine, Massachusetts,
Michigan, Mississippi, Missouri, Montana, Nebraska, Nevada, New
Hampshire, New Jersey, New Mexico, New York, North Carolina, Ohio,
Oklahoma, Oregon, Pennsylvania, Rhode Island, South Carolina, South
Dakota, Tennessee, Texas, Utah, Vermont, Virginia, Washington, West
Virginia, Wisconsin, and Wyoming.

We have filed in all 50 states now, but these are the only ones
that have responded.

As the requirements for other states are met, additions to this list
will be made and fund raising will begin in the additional states.
Please feel free to ask to check the status of your state.

In answer to various questions we have received on this:

We are constantly working on finishing the paperwork to legally
request donations in all 50 states.  If your state is not listed and
you would like to know if we have added it since the list you have,
just ask.

While we cannot solicit donations from people in states where we are
not yet registered, we know of no prohibition against accepting
donations from donors in these states who approach us with an offer to
donate.

International donations are accepted, but we don't know ANYTHING about
how to make them tax-deductible, or even if they CAN be made
deductible, and don't have the staff to handle it even if there are
ways.

Donations by check or money order may be sent to:

Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation
PMB 113
1739 University Ave.
Oxford, MS 38655-4109

Contact us if you want to arrange for a wire transfer or payment
method other than by check or money order.

The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation has been approved by
the US Internal Revenue Service as a 501(c)(3) organization with EIN
[Employee Identification Number] 64-622154.  Donations are
tax-deductible to the maximum extent permitted by law.  As fund-raising
requirements for other states are met, additions to this list will be
made and fund-raising will begin in the additional states.

We need your donations more than ever!

You can get up to date donation information online at:

http://www.gutenberg.net/donation.html


***

If you can't reach Project Gutenberg,
you can always email directly to:

Michael S. Hart <hart@pobox.com>

Prof. Hart will answer or forward your message.

We would prefer to send you information by email.


**The Legal Small Print**


(Three Pages)

***START**THE SMALL PRINT!**FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN EBOOKS**START***
Why is this "Small Print!" statement here? You know: lawyers.
They tell us you might sue us if there is something wrong with
your copy of this eBook, even if you got it for free from
someone other than us, and even if what's wrong is not our
fault. So, among other things, this "Small Print!" statement
disclaims most of our liability to you. It also tells you how
you may distribute copies of this eBook if you want to.

*BEFORE!* YOU USE OR READ THIS EBOOK
By using or reading any part of this PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm
eBook, you indicate that you understand, agree to and accept
this "Small Print!" statement. If you do not, you can receive
a refund of the money (if any) you paid for this eBook by
sending a request within 30 days of receiving it to the person
you got it from. If you received this eBook on a physical
medium (such as a disk), you must return it with your request.

ABOUT PROJECT GUTENBERG-TM EBOOKS
This PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm eBook, like most PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm eBooks,
is a "public domain" work distributed by Professor Michael S. Hart
through the Project Gutenberg Association (the "Project").
Among other things, this means that no one owns a United States copyright
on or for this work, so the Project (and you!) can copy and
distribute it in the United States without permission and
without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, set forth
below, apply if you wish to copy and distribute this eBook
under the "PROJECT GUTENBERG" trademark.

Please do not use the "PROJECT GUTENBERG" trademark to market
any commercial products without permission.

To create these eBooks, the Project expends considerable
efforts to identify, transcribe and proofread public domain
works. Despite these efforts, the Project's eBooks and any
medium they may be on may contain "Defects". Among other
things, Defects may take the form of incomplete, inaccurate or
corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other
intellectual property infringement, a defective or damaged
disk or other eBook medium, a computer virus, or computer
codes that damage or cannot be read by your equipment.

LIMITED WARRANTY; DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES
But for the "Right of Replacement or Refund" described below,
[1] Michael Hart and the Foundation (and any other party you may
receive this eBook from as a PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm eBook) disclaims
all liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including
legal fees, and [2] YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE OR
UNDER STRICT LIABILITY, OR FOR BREACH OF WARRANTY OR CONTRACT,
INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE
OR INCIDENTAL DAMAGES, EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE
POSSIBILITY OF SUCH DAMAGES.

If you discover a Defect in this eBook within 90 days of
receiving it, you can receive a refund of the money (if any)
you paid for it by sending an explanatory note within that
time to the person you received it from. If you received it
on a physical medium, you must return it with your note, and
such person may choose to alternatively give you a replacement
copy. If you received it electronically, such person may
choose to alternatively give you a second opportunity to
receive it electronically.

THIS EBOOK IS OTHERWISE PROVIDED TO YOU "AS-IS". NO OTHER
WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, ARE MADE TO YOU AS
TO THE EBOOK OR ANY MEDIUM IT MAY BE ON, INCLUDING BUT NOT
LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR A
PARTICULAR PURPOSE.

Some states do not allow disclaimers of implied warranties or
the exclusion or limitation of consequential damages, so the
above disclaimers and exclusions may not apply to you, and you
may have other legal rights.

INDEMNITY
You will indemnify and hold Michael Hart, the Foundation,
and its trustees and agents, and any volunteers associated
with the production and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm
texts harmless, from all liability, cost and expense, including
legal fees, that arise directly or indirectly from any of the
following that you do or cause:  [1] distribution of this eBook,
[2] alteration, modification, or addition to the eBook,
or [3] any Defect.

DISTRIBUTION UNDER "PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm"
You may distribute copies of this eBook electronically, or by
disk, book or any other medium if you either delete this
"Small Print!" and all other references to Project Gutenberg,
or:

[1]  Only give exact copies of it.  Among other things, this
     requires that you do not remove, alter or modify the
     eBook or this "small print!" statement.  You may however,
     if you wish, distribute this eBook in machine readable
     binary, compressed, mark-up, or proprietary form,
     including any form resulting from conversion by word
     processing or hypertext software, but only so long as
     *EITHER*:

     [*]  The eBook, when displayed, is clearly readable, and
          does *not* contain characters other than those
          intended by the author of the work, although tilde
          (~), asterisk (*) and underline (_) characters may
          be used to convey punctuation intended by the
          author, and additional characters may be used to
          indicate hypertext links; OR

     [*]  The eBook may be readily converted by the reader at
          no expense into plain ASCII, EBCDIC or equivalent
          form by the program that displays the eBook (as is
          the case, for instance, with most word processors);
          OR

     [*]  You provide, or agree to also provide on request at
          no additional cost, fee or expense, a copy of the
          eBook in its original plain ASCII form (or in EBCDIC
          or other equivalent proprietary form).

[2]  Honor the eBook refund and replacement provisions of this
     "Small Print!" statement.

[3]  Pay a trademark license fee to the Foundation of 20% of the
     gross profits you derive calculated using the method you
     already use to calculate your applicable taxes.  If you
     don't derive profits, no royalty is due.  Royalties are
     payable to "Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation"
     the 60 days following each date you prepare (or were
     legally required to prepare) your annual (or equivalent
     periodic) tax return.  Please contact us beforehand to
     let us know your plans and to work out the details.

WHAT IF YOU *WANT* TO SEND MONEY EVEN IF YOU DON'T HAVE TO?
Project Gutenberg is dedicated to increasing the number of
public domain and licensed works that can be freely distributed
in machine readable form.

The Project gratefully accepts contributions of money, time,
public domain materials, or royalty free copyright licenses.
Money should be paid to the:
"Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation."

If you are interested in contributing scanning equipment or
software or other items, please contact Michael Hart at:
hart@pobox.com

[Portions of this eBook's header and trailer may be reprinted only
when distributed free of all fees.  Copyright (C) 2001, 2002 by
Michael S. Hart.  Project Gutenberg is a TradeMark and may not be
used in any sales of Project Gutenberg eBooks or other materials be
they hardware or software or any other related product without
express permission.]

*END THE SMALL PRINT! FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN EBOOKS*Ver.02/11/02*END*