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BEVERLY OF GRAUSTARK (Part 1)

CHAPTER I

EAST OF THE SETTING SUN

Far off in the mountain lands, somewhere to the east of the setting sun, lies the principality of Graustark, serene relic of rare old feudal days. The traveler reaches the little domain after an arduous, sometimes perilous journey from the great European capitals, whether they be north or south or west—never east. He crosses great rivers and wide plains; he winds through fertile valleys and over barren plateaus; he twists and turns and climbs among sombre gorges and rugged mountains; he touches the cold clouds in one day and the placid warmth of the valley in the next. One does not go to Graustark for a pleasure jaunt. It is too far from the rest of the world and the ways are often dangerous because of the strife among the tribes of the intervening mountains. If one hungers for excitement and peril he finds it in the journey from the north or the south into the land of the Graustarkians. From Vienna and other places almost directly west the way is not so full of thrills, for the railroad skirts the darkest of the dangerlands.

Once in the heart of Graustark, however, the traveler is charmed into dreams of peace and happiness and—paradise. The peasants and the poets sing in one voice and accord, their psalm being of never-ending love. Down in the lowlands and up in the hills, the simple worker of the soil rejoices that he lives in Graustark; in the towns and villages the humble merchant and his thrifty customer unite to sing the song of peace and contentment; in the palaces of the noble the same patriotism warms its heart with thoughts of Graustark, the ancient. Prince and pauper strike hands for the love of the land, while outside the great, heartless world goes rumbling on without a thought of the rare little principality among the eastern mountains.

In point of area, Graustark is but a mite in the great galaxy of nations. Glancing over the map of the world, one is almost sure to miss the infinitesimal patch of green that marks its location. One could not be blamed if he regarded the spot as a typographical or topographical illusion. Yet the people of this quaint little land hold in their hearts a love and a confidence that is not surpassed by any of the lordly monarchs who measure their patriotism by miles and millions. The Graustarkians are a sturdy, courageous race. From the faraway century when they fought themselves clear of the Tartar yoke, to this very hour, they have been warriors of might and valor. The boundaries of their tiny domain were kept inviolate for hundreds of years, and but one victorious foe had come down to lay siege to Edelweiss, the capital. Axphain, a powerful principality in the north, had conquered Graustark in the latter part of the nineteenth century, but only after a bitter war in which starvation and famine proved far more destructive than the arms of the victors. The treaty of peace and the indemnity that fell to the lot of vanquished Graustark have been discoursed upon at length in at least one history.

Those who have followed that history must know, of course, that the reigning princess, Yetive, was married to a young American at the very tag-end of the nineteenth century. This admirable couple met in quite romantic fashion while the young sovereign was traveling incognito through the United States of America. The American, a splendid fellow named Lorry, was so persistent in the subsequent attack upon her heart, that all ancestral prejudices were swept away and she became his bride with the full consent of her entranced subjects. The manner in which he wooed and won this young and adorable ruler forms a very attractive chapter in romance, although unmentioned in history. This being the tale of another day, it is not timely to dwell upon the interesting events which led up to the marriage of the Princess Yetive to Grenfall Lorry. Suffice it to say that Lorry won his bride against all wishes and odds and at the same time won an endless love and esteem from the people of the little kingdom among the eastern hills Two years have passed since that notable wedding in Edelweiss.

Lorry and his wife, the princess, made their home in Washington, but spent a few months of each year in Edelweiss. During the periods spent in Washington and in travel, her affairs in Graustark were in the hands of a capable, austere old diplomat—her uncle, Count Caspar Halfont. Princess Volga reigned as regent over the principality of Axphain. To the south lay the principality of Dawsbergen, ruled by young Prince Dantan, whose half brother, the deposed Prince Gabriel, had been for two years a prisoner in Graustark, the convicted assassin of Prince Lorenz, of Axphain, one time suitor for the hand of Yetive.

It was after the second visit of the Lorrys to Edelweiss that a serious turn of affairs presented itself. Gabriel had succeeded in escaping from his dungeon. His friends in Dawsbergen stirred up a revolution and Dantan was driven from the throne at Serros. On the arrival of Gabriel at the capital, the army of Dawsbergen espoused the cause of the Prince it had spurned and, three days after his escape, he was on his throne, defying Yetive and offering a price for the head of the unfortunate Dantan, now a fugitive in the hills along the Graustark frontier.

CHAPTER II

BEVERLY CALHOUN

Major George Calhoun was a member of Congress from one of the southern states. His forefathers had represented the same commonwealth, and so, it was likely, would his descendants, if there is virtue in the fitness of things and the heredity of love. While intrepid frontiersmen were opening the trails through the fertile wilds west of the Alleghanies, a strong branch of the Calhoun family followed close in their footsteps. The major’s great-grandfather saw the glories and the possibilities of the new territory. He struck boldly westward from the old revolutionary grounds, abandoning the luxuries and traditions of the Carolinas for a fresh, wild life of promise. His sons and daughters became solid stones in the foundation of a commonwealth, and his grandchildren are still at work on the structure. State and national legislatures had known the Calhouns from the beginning. Battlefields had tested their valor, and drawing-rooms had proved their gentility.

Major Calhoun had fought with Stonewall Jackson and won his spurs—and at the same time the heart and hand of Betty Haswell, the staunchest Confederate who ever made flags, bandages and prayers for the boys in gray. When the reconstruction came he went to Congress and later on became prominent in the United States consular service, for years holding an important European post. Congress claimed him once more in the early ‘90s, and there he is at this very time.

Everybody in Washington’s social and diplomatic circles admired the beautiful Beverly Calhoun. According to his own loving term of identification, she was the major’s “youngest.” The fair southerner had seen two seasons in the nation’s capital. Cupid, standing directly in front of her, had shot his darts ruthlessly and resistlessly into the passing hosts, and masculine Washington looked humbly to her for the balm that might soothe its pains. The wily god of love was fair enough to protect the girl whom he forced to be his unwilling, perhaps unconscious, ally. He held his impenetrable shield between her heart and the assaults of a whole army of suitors, high and low, great and small. It was not idle rumor that said she had declined a coronet or two, that the millions of more than one American Midas had been offered to her, and that she had dealt gently but firmly with a score of hearts which had nothing but love, ambition and poverty to support them in the conflict.

The Calhouns lived in a handsome home not far from the residence of Mr. and Mrs. Grenfall Lorry. It seemed but natural that the two beautiful young women should become constant and loyal friends. Women as lovely as they have no reason to be jealous. It is only the woman who does not feel secure of her personal charms that cultivates envy. At the home of Graustark’s princess Beverly met the dukes and barons from the far east; it was in the warmth of the Calhoun hospitality that Yetive formed her dearest love for the American people.

Miss Beverly was neither tall nor short. She was of that divine and indefinite height known as medium; slender but perfectly molded; strong but graceful, an absolutely healthy young person whose beauty knew well how to take care of itself. Being quite heart-whole and fancy-free, she slept well, ate well, and enjoyed every minute of life. In her blood ran the warm, eager impulses of the south; hereditary love of case and luxury displayed itself in every emotion; the perfectly normal demand upon men’s admiration was as characteristic in her as it is in any daughter of the land whose women are born to expect chivalry and homage.

A couple of years in a New York “finishing school” for young ladies had served greatly to modify Miss Calhoun’s colloquial charms. Many of her delightful “way down south” phrases and mannerisms were blighted by the cold, unromantic atmosphere of a seminary conducted by two ladies from Boston who were too old to marry, too penurious to love and too prim to think that other women might care to do both. There were times, however,—if she were excited or enthusiastic,—when pretty Beverly so far forgot her training as to break forth with a very attractive “yo’ all,” “suah ‘nough,” or “go ‘long naow.” And when the bands played “Dixie” she was not afraid to stand up and wave her handkerchief. The northerner who happened to be with her on such occasions usually found himself doing likewise before he could escape the infection.

Miss Calhoun’s face was one that painters coveted deep down in their artistic souls. It never knew a dull instant; there was expression in every lineament, in every look; life, genuine life, dwelt in the mobile countenance that turned the head of every man and woman who looked upon it. Her hair was dark-brown and abundant; her eyes were a deep gray and looked eagerly from between long lashes of black; her lips were red and ever willing to smile or turn plaintive as occasion required; her brow was broad and fair, and her frown was as dangerous as a smile. As to her age, if the major admitted, somewhat indiscreetly, that all his children were old enough to vote, her mother, with the reluctance born in women, confessed that she was past twenty, so a year or two either way will determine Miss Beverly’s age, so far as the telling of this story is concerned. Her eldest brother—Keith Calhoun (the one with the congressional heritage)—thought she was too young to marry, while her second brother, Dan, held that she soon would be too old to attract men with matrimonial intentions. Lucy, the only sister, having been happily wedded for ten years, advised her not to think of marriage until she was old enough to know her own mind.

Toward the close of one of the most brilliant seasons the Capital had ever known, less than a fortnight before Congress was to adjourn, the wife of Grenfall Lorry received the news which spread gloomy disappointment over the entire social realm. A dozen receptions, teas and balls were destined to lose their richest attraction, and hostesses were in despair. The princess had been called to Graustark.

Beverly Calhoun was miserably unhappy. She had heard the story of Gabriel’s escape and the consequent probability of a conflict with Axphain. It did not require a great stretch of imagination to convince her that the Lorrys were hurrying off to scenes of intrigue, strife and bloodshed, and that not only Graustark but its princess was in jeopardy.

Miss Calhoun’s most cherished hopes faded with the announcement that trouble, not pleasure, called Yetive to Edelweiss. It had been their plan that Beverly should spend the delightful summer months in Graustark, a guest at the royal palace. The original arrangements of the Lorrys were hopelessly disturbed by the late news from Count Halfont. They were obliged to leave Washington two months earlier than they intended, and they could not take Beverly Calhoun into danger-ridden Graustark. The contemplated visit to St. Petersburg and other pleasures had to be abandoned, and they were in tears.

Yetive’s maids were packing the trunks, and Lorry’s servants were in a wild state of haste preparing for the departure on Saturday’s ship. On Friday afternoon, Beverly was naturally where she could do the most good and be of the least help—at the Lorrys’. Self-confessedly, she delayed the preparations. Respectful maidservants and respectful menservants came often to the princess’s boudoir to ask questions, and Beverly just as frequently made tearful resolutions to leave the household in peace—if such a hullaballoo could be called peace. Callers came by the dozen, but Yetive would see no one. Letters, telegrams and telephone calls almost swamped her secretary; the footman and the butler fairly gasped under the strain of excitement. Through it all the two friends sat despondent and alone in the drear room that once had been the abode of pure delight. Grenfall Lorry was off in town closing up all matters of business that could be despatched at once. The princess and her industrious retinue were to take the evening express for New York and the next day would find them at sea.

“I know I shall cry all summer,” vowed Miss Calhoun, with conviction in her eyes. “It’s just too awful for anything.” She was lying back among the cushions of the divan and her hat was the picture of cruel neglect. For three solid hours she had stubbornly withstood Yetive’s appeals to remove her hat, insisting that she could not trust herself to stay more than a minute or two. “It seems to me, Yetive, that your jailers must be very incompetent or they wouldn’t have let loose all this trouble upon you,” she complained.

“Prince Gabriel is the very essence of trouble,” confessed Yetive, plaintively. “He was born to annoy people, just like the evil prince in the fairy tales.”

“I wish we had him over here,” the American girl answered stoutly. “He wouldn’t be such a trouble I’m sure. We don’t let small troubles worry us very long, you know.”

“But he’s dreadfully important over there, Beverly; that’s the difficult part of it,” said Yetive, solemnly. “You see, he is a condemned murderer.”

“Then, you ought to hang him or electrocute him or whatever it is that you do to murderers over there,” promptly spoke Beverly.

“But, dear, you don’t understand. He won’t permit us either to hang or to electrocute him, my dear. The situation is precisely the reverse, if he is correctly quoted by my uncle. When Uncle Caspar sent an envoy to inform Dawsbergen respectfully that Graustark would hold it personally responsible if Gabriel were not surrendered, Gabriel himself replied: ‘Graustark be hanged!’”

“How rude of him, especially when your uncle was so courteous about it. He must be a very disagreeable person,” announced Miss Calhoun.

“I am sure you wouldn’t like him,” said the princess. “His brother, who has been driven from the throne—and from the capital, in fact—is quite different. I have not seen him, but my ministers regard him as a splendid young man.”

“Oh, how I hope he may go back with his army and annihilate that old Gabriel!” cried Beverly, frowning fiercely.

“Alas,” sighed the princess, “he hasn’t an army, and besides he is finding it extremely difficult to keep from being annihilated himself. The army has gone over to Prince Gabriel.”

“Pooh!” scoffed Miss Calhoun, who was thinking of the enormous armies the United States can produce at a day’s notice. “What good is a ridiculous little army like his, anyway? A battalion from Fort Thomas could beat it to—”

“Don’t boast, dear,” interrupted Yetive, with a wan smile. “Dawsbergen has a standing army of ten thousand excellent soldiers. With the war reserves she has twice the available force I can produce.”

“But your men are so brave,” cried Beverly, who had heard their praises sung.

“True, God bless them; but you forget that we must attack Gabriel in his own territory. To recapture him means a perilous expedition into the mountains of Dawsbergen, and I am sorely afraid. Oh, dear, I hope he’ll surrender peaceably!”

“And go back to jail for life?” cried Miss Calhoun. “It’s a good deal to expect of him, dear. I fancy it’s much better fun kicking up a rumpus on the outside than it is kicking one’s toes off against an obdurate stone wall from the inside. You can’t blame him for fighting a bit.”

“No—I suppose not,” agreed the princess, miserably. “Gren is actually happy over the miserable affair, Beverly. He is full of enthusiasm and positively aching to be in Graustark—right in the thick of it all. To hear him talk, one would think that Prince Gabriel has no show at all. He kept me up till four o’clock this morning telling me that Dawsbergen didn’t know what kind of a snag it was going up against. I have a vague idea what he means by that; his manner did not leave much room for doubt. He also said that we would jolt Dawsbergen off the map. It sounds encouraging, at least, doesn’t it?”

“It sounds very funny for you to say those things,” admitted Beverly, “even though they come secondhand. You were not cut out for slang.”

“Why, I’m sure they are all good English words,” remonstrated Yetive. “Oh, dear, I wonder what they are doing in Graustark this very instant. Are they fighting or—”

“No; they are merely talking. Don’t you know, dear, that there is never a fight until both sides have talked themselves out of breath? We shall have six months of talk and a week or two of fight, just as they always do nowadays.”

“Oh, you Americans have such a comfortable way of looking at things,” cried the princess. “Don’t you ever see the serious side of life?”

“My dear, the American always lets the other fellow see the serious side of life,” said Beverly.

“You wouldn’t be so optimistic if a country much bigger and more powerful than America happened to be the other fellow.”

“It did sound frightfully boastful, didn’t it? It’s the way we’ve been brought up, I reckon,—even we southerners who know what it is to be whipped. The idea of a girl like me talking about war and trouble and all that! It’s absurd, isn’t it?”

“Nevertheless, I wish I could see things through those dear gray eyes of yours. Oh, how I’d like to have you with me through all the months that are to come. You would be such a help to me—such a joy. Nothing would seem so hard if you were there to make me see things through your brave American eyes.” The princess put her arms about Beverly’s neck and drew her close.

“But Mr. Lorry possesses an excellent pair of American eyes,” protested Miss Beverly, loyally and very happily.

“I know, dear, but they are a man’s eyes. Somehow, there is a difference, you know. I wouldn’t dare cry when he was looking, but I could boo-hoo all day if you were there to comfort me. He thinks I am very brave—and I’m not,” she confessed, dismally.

“Oh, I’m an awful coward,” explained Beverly, consolingly. “I think you are the bravest girl in all the world,” she added. “Don’t you remember what you did at—” and then she recalled the stories that had come from Graustark ahead of the bridal party two years before. Yetive was finally obliged to place her hand on the enthusiastic visitor’s lips.

“Peace,” she cried, blushing. “You make me feel like a—a—what is it you call her—a dime-novel heroine?”

“A yellow-back girl? Never!” exclaimed Beverly, severely.

Visitors of importance in administration circles came at this moment and the princess could not refuse to see them. Beverly Calhoun reluctantly departed, but not until after giving a promise to accompany the Lorrys to the railway station.

* * * *

The trunks had gone to be checked, and the household was quieter than it had been in many days. There was an air of depression about the place that had its inception in the room upstairs where sober-faced Halkins served dinner for a not over-talkative young couple.

“It will be all right, dearest,” said Lorry, divining his wife’s thoughts as she sat staring rather soberly straight ahead of her, “Just as soon as we get to Edelweiss, the whole affair will look so simple that we can laugh at the fears of today. You see, we are a long way off just now.”

“I am only afraid of what may happen before we get there, Gren,” she said, simply. He leaned over and kissed her hand, smiling at the emphasis she unconsciously placed on the pronoun.

Beverly Calhoun was announced just before coffee was served, and a moment later was in the room. She stopped just inside the door, clicked her little heels together and gravely brought her hand to “salute.” Her eyes were sparkling and her lips trembled with suppressed excitement.

“I think I can report to you in Edelweiss next month, general,” she announced, with soldierly dignity. Her hearers stared at the picturesque recruit, and Halkins so far forgot himself as to drop Mr. Lorry’s lump of sugar upon the table instead of into the cup.

“Explain yourself, sergeant!” finally fell from Lorry’s lips. The eyes of the princess were beginning to take on a rapturous glow.

“May I have a cup of coffee, please, sir? I’ve been so excited I couldn’t eat a mouthful at home.” She gracefully slid into the chair Halkins offered, and broke into an ecstatic giggle that would have resulted in a court-martial had she been serving any commander but Love.

With a plenteous supply of Southern idioms she succeeded in making them understand that the major had promised to let her visit friends in the legation at St. Petersburg in April a month or so after the departure of the Lorrys.

“He wanted to know where I’d rather spend the Spring—Washin’ton or Lexin’ton, and I told him St. Petersburg. We had a terrific discussion and neither of us ate a speck at dinner. Mamma said it would be all right for me to go to St. Petersburg if Aunt Josephine was still of a mind to go, too. You see, Auntie was scared almost out of her boots when she heard there was prospect of war in Graustark, just as though a tiny little war like that could make any difference away up in Russia—hundreds of thousands of miles away—” (with a scornful wave of the hand)—”and then I just made Auntie say she’d go to St. Petersburg in April—a whole month sooner than she expected to go in the first place—and—”

“You dear, dear Beverly!” cried Yetive, rushing joyously around the table to clasp her in her arms.

“And St. Petersburg really isn’t a hundred thousand miles from Edelweiss,” cried Beverly, gaily.

“It’s much less than that,” said Lorry, smiling, “But you surely don’t expect to come to Edelweiss if we are fighting. We couldn’t think of letting you do that, you know. Your mother would never—”

“My mother wasn’t afraid of a much bigger war than yours can ever hope to be,” cried Beverly, resentfully. “You can’t stop me if I choose to visit Graustark.”

“Does your father know that you contemplate such a trip?” asked Lorry, returning her handclasp and looking doubtfully into the swimming blue eyes of his wife.

“No, he doesn’t,” admitted Beverly, a trifle aggressively.

“He could stop you, you know,” he suggested. Yetive was discreetly silent.

“But he won’t know anything about it,” cried Beverly triumphantly.

“I could tell him, you know,” said Lorry.

“No, you couldn’t do anything so mean as that,” announced Beverly. “You’re not that sort.”

CHAPTER III

ON THE ROAD FROM BALAK

A ponderous coach lumbered slowly, almost painfully, along the narrow road that skirted the base of a mountain. It was drawn by four horses, and upon the seat sat two rough, unkempt Russians, one holding the reins, the other lying back in a lazy doze. The month was June and all the world seemed soft and sweet and joyous. To the right flowed a turbulent mountain stream, boiling savagely with the alien waters of the flood season. Ahead of the creaking coach rode four horsemen, all heavily armed; another quartette followed some distance in the rear. At the side of the coach an officer of the Russian mounted police was riding easily, jangling his accoutrements with a vigor that disheartened at least one occupant of the vehicle. The windows of the coach doors were lowered, permitting the fresh mountain air to caress fondly the face of the young woman who tried to find comfort in one of the broad seats. Since early morn she had struggled with the hardships of that seat, and the late afternoon found her very much out of patience. The opposite seat was the resting place of a substantial colored woman and a stupendous pile of bags and boxes. The boxes were continually toppling over and the bags were forever getting under the feet of the once placid servant, whose face, quite luckily, was much too black to reflect the anger she was able, otherwise, through years of practice, to conceal.

“How much farther have we to go, lieutenant?” asked the girl on the rear seat, plaintively, even humbly. The man was very deliberate with his English. He had been recommended to her as the best linguist in the service at Radovitch, and he had a reputation to sustain.

“It another hour is but yet,” he managed to inform her, with a confident smile.

“Oh, dear,” she sighed, “a whole hour of this!”

“We soon be dar, Miss Bev’ly; jes’ yo’ mak’ up yo’ mine to res’ easy-like, an’ we—” but the faithful old colored woman’s advice was lost in the wrathful exclamation that accompanied another dislodgment of bags and boxes. The wheels of the coach had dropped suddenly into a deep rut. Aunt Fanny’s growls were scarcely more potent than poor Miss Beverly’s moans.

“It is getting worse and worse,” exclaimed Aunt Fanny’s mistress, petulantly. “I’m black and blue from head to foot, aren’t you, Aunt Fanny?”

“Ah cain’ say as to de blue, Miss Bev’ly. Hit’s a mos’ monstrous bad road, sho ‘nough. Stay up dar, will yo’!” she concluded, jamming a bag into an upper corner.

Miss Calhoun, tourist extraordinary, again consulted the linguist in the saddle. She knew at the outset that the quest would be hopeless, but she could think of no better way to pass the next hour then to extract a mite of information from the officer.

“Now for a good old chat,” she said, beaming a smile upon the grizzled Russian. “Is there a decent hotel in the village?” she asked.

They were on the edge of the village before she succeeded in finding out all that she could, and it was not a great deal, either. She learned that the town of Balak was in Axphain, scarcely a mile from the Graustark line. There was an eating and sleeping house on the main street, and the population of the place did not exceed three hundred.

When Miss Beverly awoke the next morning, sore and distressed, she looked back upon the night with a horror that sleep had been kind enough to interrupt only at intervals. The wretched hostelry lived long in her secret catalogue of terrors. Her bed was not a bed; it was a torture. The room, the table, the—but it was all too odious for description. Fatigue was her only friend in that miserable hole. Aunt Fanny had slept on the floor near her mistress’s cot, and it was the good old colored woman’s grumbling that awoke Beverly. The sun was climbing up the mountains in the east, and there was an air of general activity about the place. Beverly’s watch told her that it was past eight o’clock.

“Good gracious!” she exclaimed. “It’s nearly noon, Aunt Fanny. Hurry along here and get me up. We must leave this abominable place in ten minutes.” She was up and racing about excitedly.

“Befo’ breakfas’?” demanded Aunt Fanny weakly.

“Goodness, Aunt Fanny, is that all you think about?”

“Well, honey, yo’ all be thinkin’ moughty serious ’bout breakfas’ ‘long to’ahds ‘leben o’clock. Dat li’l tummy o’ yourn ‘ll be pow’ful mad ’cause yo’ didn’—”

“Very well, Aunt Fanny, you can run along and have the woman put up a breakfast for us and we’ll eat it on the road. I positively refuse to eat another mouthful in that awful dining-room. I’ll be down in ten minutes.”

She was down in less. Sleep, no matter how hard-earned, had revived her spirits materially. She pronounced herself ready for anything; there was a wholesome disdain for the rigors of the coming ride through the mountains in the way she gave orders for the start. The Russian officer met her just outside the entrance to the inn. He was less English than ever, but he eventually gave her to understand that he had secured permission to escort her as far as Ganlook, a town in Graustark not more than fifteen miles from Edelweiss and at least two days from Balak. Two competent Axphainian guides had been retained, and the party was quite ready to start. He had been warned of the presence of brigands in the wild mountainous passes north of Ganlook. The Russians could go no farther than Ganlook because of a royal edict from Edelweiss forbidding the nearer approach of armed forces. At that town, however, he was sure she easily could obtain an escort of Graustarkian soldiers. As the big coach crawled up the mountain road and further into the oppressive solitudes, Beverly Calhoun drew from the difficult lieutenant considerable information concerning the state of affairs in Graustark. She had been eagerly awaiting the time when something definite could be learned. Before leaving St. Petersburg early in the week she was assured that a state of war did not exist. The Princess Yetive had been in Edelweiss for six weeks. A formal demand was framed soon after her return from America, requiring Dawsbergen to surrender the person of Prince Gabriel to the authorities of Graustark. To this demand there was no definite response, Dawsbergen insolently requesting time in which to consider the proposition. Axphain immediately sent an envoy to Edelweiss to say that all friendly relations between the two governments would cease unless Graustark took vigorous steps to recapture the royal assassin. On one side of the unhappy principality a strong, overbearing princess was egging Graustark on to fight, while on the other side an equally aggressive people defied Yetive to come and take the fugitive if she could. The poor princess was between two ugly alternatives, and a struggle seemed inevitable. At Balak it was learned that Axphain had recently sent a final appeal to the government of Graustark, and it was no secret that something like a threat accompanied the message.

Prince Gabriel was in complete control at Serros and was disposed to laugh at the demands of his late captors. His half-brother, the dethroned Prince Dantan, was still hiding in the fastnesses of the hills, protected by a small company of nobles, and there was no hope that he ever could regain his crown. Gabriel’s power over the army was supreme. The general public admired Dantan, but it was helpless in the face of circumstances.

“But why should Axphain seek to harass Graustark at this time?” demanded Beverly Calhoun, in perplexity and wrath. “I should think the brutes would try to help her.”

“There is an element of opposition to the course the government is taking,” the officer informed her in his own way, “but it is greatly in the minority. The Axphainians have hated Graustark since the last war, and the princess despises this American. It is an open fact that the Duke of Mizrox leads the opposition to Princess Volga, and she is sure to have him beheaded if the chance affords. He is friendly to Graustark and has been against the policy of his princess from the start.”

“I’d like to hug the Duke of Mizrox,” cried Beverly, warmly. The officer did not understand her, but Aunt Fanny was scandalized.

“Good Lawd!” she muttered to the boxes and bags.

As the coach rolled deeper and deeper into the rock-shadowed wilderness, Beverly Calhoun felt an undeniable sensation of awe creeping over her. The brave, impetuous girl had plunged gaily into the project which now led her into the deadliest of uncertainties, with but little thought of the consequences.

The first stage of the journey by coach had been good fun. They had passed along pleasant roads, through quaint villages and among interesting people, and progress had been rapid. The second stage had presented rather terrifying prospects, and the third day promised even greater vicissitudes. Looking from the coach windows out upon the quiet, desolate grandeur of her surroundings, poor Beverly began to appreciate how abjectly helpless and alone she was. Her companions were ugly, vicious-looking men, any one of whom could inspire terror by a look. She had entrusted herself to the care of these strange creatures in the moment of inspired courage and now she was constrained to regret her action. True, they had proved worthy protectors as far as they had gone, but the very possibilities that lay in their power were appalling, now that she had time to consider the situation.

The officer in charge had been recommended as a trusted servant of the Czar; an American consul had secured the escort for her direct from the frontier patrol authorities. Men high in power had vouched for the integrity of the detachment, but all this was forgotten in the mighty solitude of the mountains. She was beginning to fear her escort more than she feared the brigands of the hills.

Treachery seemed printed on their backs as they rode ahead of her. The big officer was ever polite and alert, but she was ready to distrust him on the slightest excuse. These men could not help knowing that she was rich, and it was reasonable for them to suspect that she carried money and jewels with her. In her mind’s eye she could picture these traitors rifling her bags and boxes in some dark pass, and then there were other horrors that almost petrified her when she allowed herself to think of them.

Here and there the travelers passed by rude cots where dwelt woodmen and mountaineers, and at long intervals a solitary but picturesque horseman stood aside and gave them the road. As the coach penetrated deeper into the gorge, signs of human life and activity became fewer. The sun could not send his light into this shadowy tomb of granite. The rattle of the wheels and the clatter of the horses’ hoofs sounded like a constant crash of thunder in the ears of the tender traveler, a dainty morsel among hawks and wolves.

There was an unmistakable tremor in her voice when she at last found heart to ask the officer where they were to spend the night. It was far past noon and Aunt Fanny had suggested opening the lunch-baskets. One of the guides was called back, the leader being as much in the dark as his charge.

“There is no village within twenty miles,” he said, “and we must sleep in the pass.”

Beverly’s voice faltered. “Out here in all this awful—” Then she caught herself quickly. It came to her suddenly that she must not let these men see that she was apprehensive. Her voice was a trifle shrill and her eyes glistened with a strange new light as she went on, changing her tack completely: “How romantic! I’ve often wanted to do something like this.”

The officer looked bewildered, and said nothing. Aunt Fanny was speechless. Later on, when the lieutenant had gone ahead to confer with the guides about the suspicious actions of a small troop of horsemen they had seen, Beverly confided to the old negress that she was frightened almost out of her boots, but that she’d die before the men should see a sign of cowardice in a Calhoun. Aunt Fanny was not so proud and imperious. It was with difficulty that her high-strung young mistress suppressed the wails that long had been under restraint in Aunt Fanny’s huge and turbulent bosom.

“Good Lawd, Miss Bev’ly, dey’ll chop us all to pieces an’ take ouah jewl’ry an’ money an’ clo’es and ev’ything else we done got about us. Good Lawd, le’s tu’n back, Miss Bev’ly. We ain’ got no mo’ show out heah in dese mountings dan a—”

“Be still, Aunt Fanny!” commanded Beverly, with a fine show of courage. “You must be brave. Don’t you see we can’t turn back? It’s just as dangerous and a heap sight more so. If we let on we’re not one bit afraid they’ll respect us, don’t you see, and men never harm women whom they respect.”

“Umph!” grunted Aunt Fanny, with exaggerated irony.

“Well, they never do!” maintained Beverly, who was not at all sure about it. “And they look like real nice men—honest men, even though they have such awful whiskers.”

“Dey’s de wust trash Ah eveh did see,” exploded Aunt Fanny.

“Sh! Don’t let them hear you,” whispered Beverly.

In spite of her terror and perplexity, she was compelled to smile. It was all so like the farce comedies one sees at the theatre.

As the officer rode up, his face was pale in the shadowy light of the afternoon and he was plainly nervous.

“What is the latest news from the front?” she inquired cheerfully.

“The men refuse to ride on,” he exclaimed, speaking rapidly, making it still harder for her to understand. “Our advance guard has met a party of hunters from Axphain. They insist that you—’the fine lady in the coach’—are the Princess Yetive, returning from a secret visit to St. Petersburg, where you went to plead for assistance from the Czar.”

Beverly Calhoun gasped in astonishment. It was too incredible to believe. It was actually ludicrous. She laughed heartily. “How perfectly absurd.”

“I am well aware that you are not the Princess Yetive,” he continued emphatically; “but what can I do; the men won’t believe me. They swear they have been tricked and are panic-stricken over the situation. The hunters tell them that the Axphain authorities, fully aware of the hurried flight of the Princess through these wilds, are preparing to intercept her. A large detachment of soldiers are already across the Graustark frontier. It is only a question of time before the ‘red legs’ will be upon them. I have assured them that their beautiful charge is not the Princess, but an American girl, and that there is no mystery about the coach and escort. All in vain. The Axphain guides already feel that their heads are on the block; while as for the Cossacks, not even my dire threats of the awful anger of the White Czar, when he finds they have disobeyed his commands, will move them.”

“Speak to your men once more, sir, and promise them big purses of gold when we reach Ganlook. I have no money or valuables with me; but there I can obtain plenty,” said Beverly, shrewdly thinking it better that they should believe her to be without funds.

The cavalcade had halted during this colloquy. All the men were ahead conversing sullenly and excitedly with much gesticulation. The driver, a stolid creature, seemingly indifferent to all that was going on, alone remained at his post. The situation, apparently dangerous, was certainly most annoying. But if Beverly could have read the mind of that silent figure on the box, she would have felt slightly relieved, for he was infinitely more anxious to proceed than even she; but from far different reasons. He was a Russian convict, who had escaped on the way to Siberia. Disguised as a coachman he was seeking life and safety in Graustark, or any out-of-the-way place. It mattered little to him where the escort concluded to go. He was going ahead. He dared not go back—he must go on.

At the end of half an hour, the officer returned; all hope had gone from his face. “It is useless!” he cried out. “The guides refuse to proceed. See! They are going off with their countrymen! We are lost without them. I do not know what to do. We cannot get to Ganlook; I do not know the way, and the danger is great. Ah! Madam! Here they come! The Cossacks are going back.”

As he spoke, the surly mutineers were riding slowly towards the coach. Every man had his pistol on the high pommel of the saddle. Their faces wore an ugly look. As they passed the officer, one of them, pointing ahead of him with his sword, shouted savagely, “Balak!”

It was conclusive and convincing. They were deserting her.

“Oh, oh, oh! The cowards!” sobbed Beverly in rage and despair. “I must go on! Is it possible that even such men would leave—”

She was interrupted by the voice of the officer, who, raising his cap to her, commanded at the same time the driver to turn his horses and follow the escort to Balak.

“What is that?” demanded Beverly in alarm.

From far off came the sound of firearms. A dozen shots were fired, and reverberated down through the gloomy pass ahead of the coach.

“They are fighting somewhere in the hills in front of us,” answered the now frightened officer. Turning quickly, he saw the deserting horsemen halt, listen a minute, and then spur their horses. He cried out sharply to the driver, “Come, there! Turn round! We have no time to lose!”

With a savage grin, the hitherto motionless driver hurled some insulting remark at the officer, who was already following his men, now in full flight down the road, and settling himself firmly on the seat, taking a fresh grip of the reins, he yelled to his horses, at the same time lashing them furiously with his whip, and started the coach ahead at a fearful pace. His only thought was to get away as far as possible from the Russian officer, then deliberately desert the coach and its occupants and take to the hills.

CHAPTER IV

THE RAGGED RETINUE

Thoroughly mystified by the action of the driver and at length terrified by the pace that carried them careening along the narrow road, Beverly cried out to him, her voice shrill with alarm. Aunt Fanny was crouching on the floor of the coach, between the seats, groaning and praying.

“Stop! Where are you going?” cried Beverly, putting her head recklessly through the window. If the man heard her he gave no evidence of the fact. His face was set forward and he was guiding the horses with a firm, unquivering hand. The coach rattled and bounded along the dangerous way hewn in the side of the mountain. A misstep or a false turn might easily start the clumsy vehicle rolling down the declivity on the right. The convict was taking desperate chances, and with a cool, calculating brain, prepared to leap to the ground in case of accident and save himself, without a thought for the victims inside.

“Stop! Turn around!” she cried in a frenzy. “We shall be killed! Are you crazy?”

By this time they had struck a descent in the road and were rushing along at breakneck speed into oppressive shadows that bore the first imprints of night. Realizing at last that her cries were falling upon purposely deaf ears, Beverly Calhoun sank back into the seat, weak and terror-stricken. It was plain to her that the horses were not running away, for the man had been lashing them furiously. There was but one conclusion: he was deliberately taking her farther into the mountain fastnesses, his purpose known only to himself. A hundred terrors presented themselves to her as she lay huddled against the side of the coach, her eyes closed tightly, her tender body tossed furiously about with the sway of the vehicle. There was the fundamental fear that she would be dashed to death down the side of the mountain, but apart from this her quick brain was evolving all sorts of possible endings—none short of absolute disaster.

Even as she prayed that something might intervene to check the mad rush and to deliver her from the horrors of the moment, the raucous voice of the driver was heard calling to his horses and the pace became slower. The awful rocking and the jolting grew less severe, the clatter resolved itself into a broken rumble, and then the coach stopped with a mighty lurch.

Dragging herself from the corner, poor Beverly Calhoun, no longer a disdainful heroine, gazed piteously out into the shadows, expecting the murderous blade of the driver to meet her as she did so. Pauloff had swung from the box of the coach and was peering first into the woodland below and then upon the rocks to the left. He wore the expression of a man trapped and seeking means of escape. Suddenly he darted behind the coach, almost brushing against Beverly’s hat as he passed the window. She opened her lips to call to him, but even as she did so he took to his heels and raced back over the road they had traveled so precipitously.

Overcome by surprise and dismay, she only could watch the flight in silence. Less than a hundred feet from where the coach was standing he turned to the right and was lost among the rocks. Ahead, four horses, covered with sweat, were panting and heaving as if in great distress after their mad run. Aunt Fanny was still moaning and praying by turns in the bottom of the carriage. Darkness was settling down upon the pass, and objects a hundred yards away were swallowed by the gloom. There was no sound save the blowing of the tired animals and the moaning of the old negress. Beverly realized with a sinking heart that they were alone and helpless in the mountains with night upon them.

She never knew where the strength and courage came from, but she forced open the stubborn coachdoor and scrambled to the ground, looking frantically in all directions for a single sign of hope. In the most despairing terror she had ever experienced, she started toward the lead horses, hoping against hope that at least one of her men had remained faithful.

A man stepped quietly from the inner side of the road and advanced with the uncertain tread of one who is overcome by amazement. He was a stranger, and wore an odd, uncouth garb. The failing light told her that he was not one of her late protectors. She shrank back with a faint cry of alarm, ready to fly to the protecting arms of hopeless Aunt Fanny if her uncertain legs could carry her. At the same instant another ragged stranger, then two, three, four, or five, appeared as if by magic, some near her, others approaching from the shadows.

“Who—who in heaven’s name are you?” she faltered. The sound of her own voice in a measure restored the courage that had been paralyzed. Unconsciously this slim sprig of southern valor threw back her shoulders and lifted her chin. If they were brigands they should not find her a cringing coward. After all, she was a Calhoun.

The man she had first observed stopped near the horses’ heads and peered intently at her from beneath a broad and rakish hat. He was tall and appeared to be more respectably clad than his fellows, although there was not one who looked as though he possessed a complete outfit of wearing apparel.

“Poor wayfarers, may it please your highness,” replied the tall vagabond, bowing low. To her surprise he spoke in very good English; his voice was clear, and there was a tinge of polite irony in the tones. “But all people are alike in the mountains. The king and the thief, the princess and the jade live in the common fold,” and his hat swung so low that it touched the ground.

“I am powerless. I only implore you to take what valuables you may find and let us proceed unharmed—” she cried, rapidly, eager to have it over.

“Pray, how can your highness proceed? You have no guide, no driver, no escort,” said the man, mockingly. Beverly looked at him appealingly, utterly without words to reply. The tears were welling to her eyes and her heart was throbbing like that of a captured bird. In after life she was able to picture in her mind’s eye all the details of that tableau in the mountain pass—the hopeless coach, the steaming horses, the rakish bandit, and his picturesque men, the towering crags, and a mite of a girl facing the end of everything.

“Your highness is said to be brave, but even your wonderful courage can avail nothing in this instance,” said the leader, pleasantly. “Your escort has fled as though pursued by something stronger than shadows; your driver has deserted; your horses are half-dead; you are indeed, as you have said, powerless. And you are, besides all these, in the clutches of a band of merciless cutthroats.”

“Oh,” moaned Beverly, suddenly leaning against the fore wheel, her eyes almost starting from her head. The leader laughed quietly—yes, good-naturedly. “Oh, you won’t—you won’t kill us?” She had time to observe that there were smiles on the faces of all the men within the circle of light.

“Rest assured, your highness,” said the leader, leaning upon his rifle-barrel with careless grace, “we intend no harm to you. Every man you meet in Graustark is not a brigand, I trust, for your sake. We are simple hunters, and not what we may seem. It is fortunate that you have fallen into honest hands. There is someone in the coach?” he asked, quickly alert. A prolonged groan proved to Beverly that Aunt Fanny had screwed up sufficient courage to look out of the window.

“My old servant,” she half whispered. Then, as several of the men started toward the door: “But she is old and wouldn’t harm a fly. Please, please don’t hurt her.”

“Compose yourself; she is safe,” said the leader. By this time it was quite dark. At a word from him two or three men lighted lanterns. The picture was more weird than ever in the fitful glow. “May I ask, your highness, how do you intend to reach Edelweiss in your present condition. You cannot manage those horses, and besides, you do not know the way.”

“Aren’t you going to rob us?” demanded Beverly, hope springing to the surface with a joyful bound. The stranger laughed heartily, and shook his head.

“Do we not look like honest men?” he cried, with a wave of his hand toward his companions. Beverly looked dubious. “We live the good, clean life of the wilderness. Out-door life is necessary for our health. We could not live in the city,” he went on with grim humor. For the first time, Beverly noticed that he wore a huge black patch over his left eye, held in place by a cord. He appeared more formidable than ever under the light of critical inspection.

CHAPTER IV

THE RAGGED RETINUE

“I am very much relieved,” said Beverly, who was not at all relieved. “But why have you stopped us in this manner?”

“Stopped you?” cried the man with the patch. “I implore you to unsay that, your highness. Your coach was quite at a standstill before we knew of its presence. You do us a grave injustice.”

“It’s very strange,” muttered Beverly, somewhat taken aback.

“Have you observed that it is quite dark?” asked the leader, putting away his brief show of indignation.

“Dear me; so it is!” cried she, now able to think more clearly.

“And you are miles from an inn or house of any kind,” he went on. “Do you expect to stay here all night?”

“I’m—I’m not afraid,” bravely shivered Beverly.

“It is most dangerous.”

“I have a revolver,” the weak little voice went on.

“Oho! What is it for?”

“To use in case of emergency.”

“Such as repelling brigands who suddenly appear upon the scene?”

“Yes.”

“May I ask why you did not use it this evening?”

“Because it is locked up in one of my bags—I don’t know just which one—and Aunt Fanny has the key,” confessed Beverly.

The chief of the “honest men” laughed again, a clear, ringing laugh that bespoke supreme confidence in his right to enjoy himself.

“And who is Aunt Fanny?” he asked, covering his patch carefully with his slouching hat.

“My servant. She’s colored.”

“Colored?” he asked in amazement. “What do you mean?”

“Why, she’s a negress. Don’t you know what a colored person is?”

“You mean she is a slave—a black slave?”

“We don’t own slaves any mo’—more.” He looked more puzzled than ever—then at last, to satisfy himself, walked over and peered into the coach. Aunt Fanny set up a dismal howl; an instant later Sir Honesty was pushed aside, and Miss Calhoun was anxiously trying to comfort her old friend through the window. The man looked on in silent wonder for a minute, and then strode off to where a group of his men stood talking.

“Is yo’ daid yit, Miss Bev’ly—is de end came?” moaned Aunt Fanny. Beverly could not repress a smile.

“I am quite alive, Auntie. These men will not hurt us. They are very nice gentlemen.” She uttered the last observation in a loud voice and it had its effect, for the leader came to her side with long strides.

“Convince your servant that we mean no harm, your highness,” he said eagerly, a new deference in his voice and manner. “We have only the best of motives in mind. True, the hills are full of lawless fellows and we are obliged to fight them almost daily, but you have fallen in with honest men—very nice gentlemen, I trust. Less than an hour ago we put a band of robbers to flight—”

“I heard the shooting,” cried Beverly. “It was that which put my escort to flight.”

“They could not have been soldiers of Graustark, then, your highness,” quite gallantly.

“They were Cossacks, or whatever you call them. But, pray, why do you call me ‘your highness’?” demanded Beverly. The tall leader swept the ground with his hat once more.

“All the outside world knows the Princess Yetive—why not the humble mountain man? You will pardon me, but every man in the hills knows that you are to pass through on the way from St. Petersburg to Ganlook. We are not so far from the world, after all, we rough people of the hills. We know that your highness left St. Petersburg by rail last Sunday and took to the highway day before yesterday, because the floods had washed away the bridges north of Axphain. Even the hills have eyes and ears.”

Beverly listened with increasing perplexity. It was true that she had left St. Petersburg on Sunday; that the unprecedented floods had stopped all railway traffic in the hills, compelling her to travel for many miles by stage, and that the whole country was confusing her in some strange way with the Princess Yetive. The news had evidently sped through Axphain and the hills with the swiftness of fire. It would be useless to deny the story; these men would not believe her. In a flash she decided that it would be best to pose for the time being as the ruler of Graustark. It remained only for her to impress upon Aunt Fanny the importance of this resolution.

“What wise old hills they must be,” she said, with evasive enthusiasm. “You cannot expect me to admit, however, that I am the princess,” she went on.

“It would not be just to your excellent reputation for tact if you did so, your highness,” calmly spoke the man. “It is quite as easy to say that you are not the princess as to say that you are, so what matters, after all? We reserve the right, however, to do homage to the queen who rules over these wise old hills. I offer you the humble services of myself and my companions. We are yours to command.”

“I am very grateful to find that you are not brigands, believe me,” said Beverly. “Pray tell me who you are, then, and you shall be sufficiently rewarded for your good intentions.”

“I? Oh, your highness, I am Baldos, the goat-hunter, a poor subject for reward at your hands. I may as well admit that I am a poacher, and have no legal right to the prosperity of your hills. The only reward I can ask is forgiveness for trespassing upon the property of others.”

“You shall receive pardon for all transgressions. But you must get me to some place of safety,” said Beverly, eagerly.

“And quickly, too, you might well have added,” he said, lightly. “The horses have rested, I think, so with your permission we may proceed. I know of a place where you may spend the night comfortably and be refreshed for the rough journey tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow? How can I go on? I am alone,” she cried, despairingly.

“Permit me to remind you that you are no longer alone. You have a ragged following, your highness, but it shall be a loyal one. Will you re-enter the coach? It is not far to the place I speak of, and I myself will drive you there. Come, it is getting late, and your retinue, at least, is hungry.”

He flung open the coach door, and his hat swept the ground once more. The light of a lantern played fitfully upon his dark, gaunt face, with its gallant smile and ominous patch. She hesitated, fear entering her soul once more. He looked up quickly and saw the indecision in her eyes, the mute appeal.

“Trust me, your highness,” he said, gravely, and she allowed him to hand her into the coach.

A moment later he was upon the driver’s box, reins in hand. Calling out to his companions in a language strange to Beverly, he cracked the whip, and once more they were lumbering over the wretched road. Beverly sank back into the seat with a deep sigh of resignation.

“Well, I’m in for it,” she thought. “It doesn’t matter whether they are thieves or angels, I reckon I’ll have to take what comes. He doesn’t look very much like an angel, but he looked at me just now as if he thought I were one. Dear me, I wish I were back in Washin’ton!”

CHAPTER V

THE INN OF THE HAWK AND RAVEN

Two of the men walked close beside the door, one of them bearing a lantern. They conversed in low tones and in a language which Beverly could not understand. After awhile she found herself analyzing the garb and manner of the men. She was saying to herself that here were her first real specimens of Graustark peasantry, and they were to mark an ineffaceable spot in her memory. They were dark, strong-faced men of medium height, with fierce, black eyes and long black hair. As no two were dressed alike, it was impossible to recognize characteristic styles of attire. Some were in the rude, baggy costumes of the peasant as she had imagined him; others were dressed in the tight-fitting but dilapidated uniforms of the soldiery, while several were in clothes partly European and partly Oriental. There were hats and fezzes and caps, some with feathers In the bands, others without. The man nearest the coach wore the dirty gray uniform of as army officer, full of holes and rents, while another strode along in a pair of baggy yellow trousers and a dusty London dinner jacket. All in all, it was the motliest band of vagabonds she had ever seen. There were at least ten or a dozen in the party. While a few carried swords, all lugged the long rifles and crooked daggers of the Tartars.

“Aunt Fanny,” Beverly whispered, suddenly moving to the side of the subdued servant, “where is my revolver?” It had come to her like a flash that a subsequent emergency should not find her unprepared. Aunt Fanny’s jaw dropped, and her eyes were like white rings in a black screen.

“Good Lawd—wha—what fo’ Miss Bev’ly—”

“Sh! Don’t call me Miss Bev’ly. Now, just you pay ‘tention to me and I’ll tell you something queer. Get my revolver right away, and don’t let those men see what you are doing.” While Aunt Fanny’s trembling fingers went in search of the firearm, Beverly outlined the situation briefly but explicitly. The old woman was not slow to understand. Her wits sharpened by fear, she grasped Beverly’s instructions with astonishing avidity.

“Ve’y well, yo’ highness,” she said with fine reverence, “Ah’ll p’ocuah de bottle o’ pepp’mint fo’ yo’ if yo’ jes don’ mine me pullin’ an’ haulin’ ‘mongst dese boxes. Mebbe yo’ all ‘druther hab de gingeh?” With this wonderful subterfuge as a shield she dug slyly into one of the bags and pulled forth a revolver. Under ordinary circumstances she would have been mortally afraid to touch it, but not so in this emergency. Beverly shoved the weapon into the pocket of her gray traveling jacket.

“I feel much better now, Aunt Fanny,” she said, and Aunt Fanny gave a vast chuckle.

“Yas, ma’am, indeed,—yo’ highness,” she agreed, suavely.

The coach rolled along for half an hour, and then stopped with a sudden jolt. An instant later the tall driver appeared at the window, his head uncovered. A man hard by held a lantern.

“Qua vandos ar deltanet, yos serent,” said the leader, showing his white teeth in a triumphant smile. His exposed eye seemed to be glowing with pleasure and excitement.

“What?” murmured Beverly, hopelessly. A puzzled expression came into his face. Then his smile deepened and his eye took on a knowing gleam.

“Ah, I see,” he said, gaily, “your highness prefers not to speak the language of Graustark. Is it necessary for me to repeat in English?”

“I really wish you would,” said Beverly, catching her breath. “Just to see how it sounds, you know.”

“Your every wish shall be gratified. I beg to inform you that we have reached the Inn of the Hawk and Raven. This is where we dwelt last night. Tomorrow we, too, abandon the place, so our fortunes may run together for some hours, at least. There is but little to offer you in the way of nourishment, and there are none of the comforts of a palace. Yet princesses can no more be choosers than beggars when the fare’s in one pot. Come, your highness, let me conduct you to the guest chamber of the Inn of the Hawk and Raven.”

Beverly took his hand and stepped to the ground, looking about in wonder and perplexity.

“I see no inn,” she murmured apprehensively.

“Look aloft, your highness. That great black canopy is the roof; we are standing upon the floor, and the dark shadows just beyond the circle of light are the walls of the Hawk and Raven. This is the largest tavern in all Graustark. Its dimensions are as wide as the world itself.”

“You mean that there is no inn at all?” the girl cried in dismay.

“Alas, I must confess it. And yet there is shelter here. Come with me. Let your servant follow.” He took her by the hand, and led her away from the coach, a ragged lantern-bearer preceding. Beverly’s little right hand was rigidly clutching the revolver in her pocket. It was a capacious pocket, and the muzzle of the weapon bored defiantly into a timid powder-rag that lay on the bottom. The little leather purse from which it escaped had its silver lips opened as if in a broad grin of derision, reveling in the plight of the chamois. The guide’s hand was at once firm and gentle, his stride bold, yet easy. His rakish hat, with its aggressive red feather, towered a full head above Beverly’s Parisian violets.

“Have you no home at all—no house in which to sleep?” Beverly managed to ask.

“I live in a castle of air,” said he, waving his hand gracefully. “I sleep in the house of my fathers.”

“You poor fellow,” cried Beverly, pityingly. He laughed and absently patted the hilt of his sword.

She heard the men behind them turning the coach into the glen through which they walked carefully. Her feet fell upon a soft, grassy sward and the clatter of stones was now no longer heard. They were among the shadowy trees, gaunt trunks of enormous size looming up in the light of the lanterns. Unconsciously her thoughts went over to the Forest of Arden and the woodland home of Rosalind, as she had imagined it to be. Soon there came to her ears the swish of waters, as of some turbulent river hurrying by. Instinctively she drew back and her eyes were set with alarm upon the black wall of night ahead. Yetive had spoken more than once of this wilderness. Many an unlucky traveler had been lost forever in its fastnesses.

“It is the river, your highness. There is no danger. I will not lead you into it,” he said, a trifle roughly. “We are low in the valley and there are marshes yonder when the river is in its natural bed. The floods have covered the low grounds, and there is a torrent coming down from the hills. Here we are, your highness. This is the Inn of the Hawk and Raven.”

He bowed and pointed with his hat to the smouldering fire a short distance ahead. They had turned a bend in the overhanging cliff, and were very close to the retreat before she saw the glow.

The fire was in the open air and directly in front of a deep cleft in the rocky background. Judging by the sound, the river could not be more than two hundred feet away. Men came up with lanterns and others piled brush upon the fire. In a very short time the glen was weirdly illuminated by the dancing flames. From her seat on a huge log, Beverly was thus enabled to survey a portion of her surroundings. The overhanging ledge of rock formed a wide, deep canopy, underneath which was perfect shelter. The floor seemed to be rich, grassless loam, and here and there were pallets of long grass, evidently the couches of these homeless men. All about were huge trees, and in the direction of the river the grass grew higher and then gave place to reeds. The foliage above was so dense that the moon and stars were invisible. There was a deathly stillness in the air. The very loneliness was so appalling that Beverly’s poor little heart was in a quiver of dread. Aunt Fanny, who sat near by, had not spoken since leaving the coach, but her eyes were expressively active.

The tall leader stood near the fire, conversing with half a dozen of his followers. Miss Calhoun’s eyes finally rested upon this central figure in the strange picture. He was attired in a dark-gray uniform that reminded her oddly of the dragoon choruses in the comic operas at home. The garments, while torn and soiled, were well-fitting. His shoulders were broad and square, his hips narrow, his legs long and straight. There was an air of impudent grace about him that went well with his life and profession. Surely, here was a careless freelance upon whom life weighed lightly, while death “stood afar off” and despaired. The light of the fire brought his gleaming face into bold relief, for his hat was off. Black and thick was his hair, rumpled and apparently uncared for. The face was lean, smooth and strong, with a devil-may-care curve at the corners of the mouth. Beverly found herself lamenting the fact that such an interesting face should be marred by an ugly black patch, covering she knew not what manner of defect. As for the rest of them, they were a grim company. Some were young and beardless, others were old and grizzly, but all were active, alert and strong. The leader appeared to be the only one in the party who could speak and understand the English language. As Beverly sat and watched his virile, mocking face, and studied his graceful movements, she found herself wondering how an ignorant, homeless wanderer in the hills could be so poetic and so cultured as this fellow seemed to be.

Three or four men, who were unmistakably of a lower order than their companions, set about preparing a supper. Others unhitched the tired horses and led them off toward the river. Two dashing young fellows carried the seat-cushions under the rocky canopy and constructed an elaborate couch for the “Princess.” The chief, with his own hands, soon began the construction of a small chamber in this particular corner of the cave, near the opening. The walls of the chamber were formed of carriage robes and blankets, cloaks and oak branches.

“The guest chamber, your highness,” he said, approaching her with a smile at the conclusion of his work.

“It has been most interesting to watch you,” she said, rising.

“And it has been a delight to interest you,” he responded. “You will find seclusion there, and you need see none of us until it pleases you.”

She looked him fairly in the eye for a moment, and then impulsively extended her hand. He clasped it warmly, but not without some show of surprise.

“I am trusting you implicitly,” she said.

“The knave is glorified,” was his simple rejoinder. He conducted her to the improvised bed-chamber, Aunt Fanny following with loyal but uncertain tread. “I regret, your highness, that the conveniences are so few. We have no landlady except Mother Earth, no waiters, no porters, no maids, in the Inn of the Hawk and Raven. This being a men’s hotel, the baths are on the river-front. I am having water brought to your apartments, however, but it is with deepest shame and sorrow that I confess we have no towels.”

She laughed so heartily that his face brightened perceptibly, whilst the faces of his men turned in their direction as though by concert.

“It is a typical mountain resort, then,” she said, “I think I can manage very well if you will fetch my bags to my room, sir.”

“By the way, will you have dinner served in your room?” very good-humoredly.

“If you don’t mind, I’d like to eat in the public dining-room,” said she. A few minutes later Beverly was sitting upon one of her small trunks and Aunt Fanny was laboriously brushing her dark hair.

“It’s very jolly being a princess,” murmured Miss Calhoun. She had bathed her face in one of the leather buckets from the coach, and the dust of the road had been brushed away by the vigorous lady-in-waiting.

“Yas, ma’am, Miss—yo’ highness, hit’s monstrous fine fo’ yo’, but whar is Ah goin’ to sleep? Out yondah, wif all dose scalawags?” said Aunt Fanny, rebelliously.

“You shall have a bed in here, Aunt Fanny,” said Beverly.

“Dey’s de queeres’ lot o’ tramps Ah eveh did see, an’ Ah wouldn’ trust ’em ’s fer as Ah could heave a brick house.”

“But the leader is such a very courteous gentleman,” remonstrated Beverly.

“Yas, ma’am; he mussa came f’m Gawgia or Kaintuck,” was Aunt Fanny’s sincere compliment.

The pseudo-princess dined with the vagabonds that night. She sat on the log beside the tall leader, and ate heartily of the broth and broiled goatmeat, the grapes and the nuts, and drank of the spring water which took the place of wine and coffee and cordial. It was a strange supper amid strange environments, but she enjoyed it as she had never before enjoyed a meal. The air was full of romance and danger, and her imagination was enthralled. Everything was so new and unreal that she scarcely could believe herself awake. The world seemed to have gone back to the days of Robin Hood and his merry men.

“You fare well at the Inn of the Hawk and Raven,” she said to him, her voice tremulous with excitement. He looked mournfully at her for a moment and then smiled naively.

“It is the first wholesome meal we have had in two days,” he replied.

“You don’t mean it!”

“Yes. We were lucky with the guns today. Fate was kind to us—and to you, for we are better prepared to entertain royalty today than at any time since I have been in the hills of Graustark.”

“Then you have not always lived in Graustark?”

“Alas, no, your highness. I have lived elsewhere.”

“But you were born in the principality?”

“I am a subject of its princess in heart from this day forth, but not by birth or condition. I am a native of the vast domain known to a few of us as Circumstance,” and he smiled rather recklessly.

“You are a poet, a delicious poet,” cried Beverly, forgetting herself in her enthusiasm.

“Perhaps that is why I am hungry and unshorn. It had not occurred to me in that light. When you are ready to retire, your highness,” he said, abruptly rising, “we shall be pleased to consider the Inn of the Hawk and Raven closed for the night. Having feasted well, we should sleep well. We have a hard day before us. With your consent, I shall place my couch of grass near your door. I am the porter. You have but to call if anything is desired.”

She was tired, but she would have sat up all night rather than miss any of the strange romance that had been thrust upon her. But Sir Red-feather’s suggestion savored of a command and she reluctantly made her way to the flapping blanket that marked the entrance to the bed-chamber. He drew the curtain aside, swung his hat low and muttered a soft goodnight.

“May your highness’s dreams be pleasant ones!” he said.

“Thank you,” said she, and the curtain dropped impertinently. “That was very cool of him, I must say,” she added, as she looked at the wavering door.

When she went to sleep, she never knew; she was certain that her eyes were rebellious for a long time and that she wondered how her gray dress would look after she had slept in it all night. She heard low singing as if in the distance, but after a while the stillness became so intense that its pressure almost suffocated her. The rush of the river grew louder and louder and there was a swishing sound that died in her ears almost as she wondered what it meant. Her last waking thoughts were of the “black-patch” poet. Was he lying near the door?

She was awakened in the middle of the night by the violent flapping of her chamber door. Startled, she sat bolt upright and strained her eyes to pierce the mysterious darkness. Aunt Fanny, on her bed of grass, stirred convulsively, but did not awake. The blackness of the strange chamber was broken ever and anon by faint flashes of light from without, and she lived through long minutes of terror before it dawned upon her that a thunderstorm was brewing. The wind was rising, and the night seemed agog with excitement. Beverly crept from her couch and felt her way to the fluttering doorway. Drawing aside the blanket she peered forth into the night, her heart jumping with terror. Her highness was very much afraid of thunder and lightning.

The fire in the open had died down until naught remained but a few glowing embers. These were blown into brilliancy by the wind, casting a steady red light over the scene. There was but one human figure in sight. Beside the fire stood the tall wanderer. He was hatless and coatless, and his arms were folded across his chest. Seemingly oblivious to the approach of the storm, he stood staring into the heap of ashes at his feet. His face was toward her, every feature plainly distinguishable in the faint glow from the fire. To her amazement the black patch was missing from the eye; and, what surprised her almost to the point of exclaiming aloud, there appeared to be absolutely no reason for its presence there at any time. There was no mark or blemish upon or about the eye; it was as clear and penetrating as its fellow, darkly gleaming in the red glow from below. Moreover, Beverly saw that he was strikingly handsome—a strong, manly face. The highly imaginative southern girl’s mind reverted to the first portraits of Napoleon she had seen.

Suddenly he started, threw up his head and looking up to the sky uttered some strange words. Then he strode abruptly toward her doorway. She fell back breathless. He stopped just outside, and she knew that he was listening for sounds from within. After many minutes she stealthily looked forth again. He was standing near the fire, his back toward her, looking off into the night.

The wind was growing stronger; the breezes fanned the night into a rush of shivery coolness. Constant flickerings of lightning illuminated the forest, transforming the tree-tops into great black waves. Tall reeds along the river bank began to bend their tops, to swing themselves gently to and from the wind. In the lowlands down from the cave “will o’ the wisps” played tag with “Jack o’ the lanterns,” merrily scampering about in the blackness, reminding her of the revellers in a famous Brocken scene. Low moans grew out of the havoc, and voices seemed to speak in unintelligible whispers to the agitated twigs and leaves. The secrets of the wind were being spread upon the records of the night; tales of many climes passed through the ears of Nature.

From gentle undulations the marshland reeds swept into lower dips, danced wilder minuets, lashed each other with infatuated glee, mocking the whistle of the wind with an angry swish of their tall bodies. Around the cornices of the Inn of the Hawk and Raven scurried the singing breezes, reluctant to leave a playground so pleasing to the fancy. Soon the night became a cauldron, a surging, hissing, roaring receptacle in which were mixing the ingredients of disaster. Night-birds flapped through the moaning tree-tops, in search of shelter; reeds were flattened to the earth, bowing to the sovereignty of the wind; clouds roared with the rumble of a million chariots, and then the sky and the earth met in one of those savage conflicts that make all other warfare seem as play.

As Beverly sank back from the crash, she saw him throw his arms aloft as though inviting the elements to mass themselves and their energy upon his head. She shrieked involuntarily and he heard the cry above the carnage. Instantly his face was turned in her direction.

“Help! Help!” she cried. He bounded toward the swishing robes and blankets, but his impulse had found a rival in the blast. Like a flash the walls of the guest chamber were whisked away, scuttling off into the night or back into the depths of the cavern. With the deluge came the man. From among the stifling robes he snatched her up and bore her away, she knew not whither.

CHAPTER VI

THE HOME OF THE LION

“May all storms be as pleasant as this one!” she heard someone say, with a merry laugh. The next instant she was placed soundly upon her feet. A blinding flash of lightning revealed Baldos, the goat-hunter, at her side, while a dozen shadowy figures were scrambling to their feet in all corners of the Hawk and Raven. Someone was clutching her by the dress at the knees. She did not have to look down to know that it was Aunt Fanny.

“Goodness!” gasped the princess, and then it was pitch dark again. The man at her side called out a command in his own language, and then turned his face close to hers.

“Do not be alarmed. We are quite safe now. The royal bed-chamber has come to grief, however, I am sorry to say. What a fool I was not to have foreseen all this! The storm has been brewing since midnight,” he was saying to her.

“Isn’t it awful?” cried Beverly, between a moan a shriek.

“They are trifles after one gets used to them,” he said. “I have come to be quite at home in the tempest. There are other things much more annoying, I assure your highness. We shall have lights in a moment.” Even as he spoke, two or three lanterns began to flicker feebly.

“Be quiet, Aunt Fanny; you are not killed at all,” commanded Beverly, quite firmly.

“De house is suah to blow down. Miss—yo’ highness,” groaned the trusty maidservant. Beverly laughed bravely but nervously with the tall goat-hunter. He at once set about making his guest comfortable and secure from the effects of the tempest, which was now at its height. Her couch of cushions was dragged far back into the cavern and the rescued blankets, though drenched, again became a screen.

“Do you imagine that I’m going in there while this storm rages?” Beverly demanded, as the work progressed.

“Are you not afraid of lightning? Most young women are.”

“That’s the trouble. I am afraid of it. I’d much rather stay out here where there is company. You don’t mind, do you?”

“Paradise cannot be spurned by one who now feels its warmth for the first time,” said he, gallantly. “Your fear is my delight. Pray sit upon our throne. It was once a humble carriage pail of leather, but now it is exalted. Besides, it is much more comfortable than some of the gilded chairs we hear about.”

“You are given to irony, I fear,” she said, observing a peculiar smile on his lips.

“I crave pardon, your highness,” he said, humbly “The heart of the goat-hunter is more gentle than his wit. I shall not again forget that you are a princess and I the veriest beggar.”

“I didn’t mean to hurt you!” she cried, in contrition, for she was a very poor example of what a princess is supposed to be.

“There is no wound, your highness,” he quickly said. With a mocking grace that almost angered her, he dropped to his knee and motioned for her to be seated. She sat down suddenly, clapping her hands to her ears and shutting her eyes tightly. The crash of thunder that came at that instant was the most fearful of all, and it was a full minute before she dared to lift her lids again. He was standing before her, and there was genuine compassion in his face. “It’s terrible,” he said. “Never before have I seen such a storm. Have courage, your highness; it can last but little longer.”

“Goodness!” said the real American girl, for want of something more expressive.

“Your servant has crept into your couch, I fear. Shall I sit here at your feet? Perhaps you may feel a small sense of security if I—”

“Indeed, I want you to sit there,” she cried. He forthwith threw himself upon the floor of the cave, a graceful, respectful guardian. Minutes went by without a word from either. The noise of the storm made it impossible to speak and be heard. Scattered about the cavern were his outstretched followers, doubtless asleep once more in all this turmoil. With the first lull in the war of the elements, Beverly gave utterance to the thought that long had been struggling for release.

“Why do you wear that horrid black patch over your eye?” she asked, a trifle timidly. He muttered a sharp exclamation and clapped his hand to his eye. For the first time since the beginning of their strange acquaintanceship Beverly observed downright confusion in this debonair knight of the wilds.

“It has—has slipped off—” he stammered, with a guilty grin. His merry insolence was gone, his composure with it. Beverly laughed with keen enjoyment over the discomfiture of the shame-faced vagabond.

“You can’t fool me,” she exclaimed, shaking her finger at him in the most unconventional way. “It was intended to be a disguise. There is absolutely nothing the matter with your eye.”

He was speechless for a moment, recovering himself. Wisdom is conceived in silence, and he knew this. Vagabond or gentleman, he was a clever actor.

“The eye is weak, your highness, and I cover it in the daytime to protect it from the sunlight,” he said, coolly.

“That’s all very nice, but it looks to be quite as good as the other. And what is more, sir, you are not putting the patch over the same eye that wore it when I first saw you. It was the left eye at sunset. Does the trouble transfer after dark?”

He broke into an honest laugh and hastily moved the black patch across his nose to the left eye.

“I was turned around in the darkness, that’s all,” he said, serenely. “It belongs over the left eye, and I am deeply grateful to you for discovering the error.”

“I don’t see any especial reason why you should wear it after dark, do you? There is no sunlight, I’m sure.”

“I am dazzled, nevertheless,” he retorted.

“Fiddlesticks!” she said. “This is a cave, not a drawing-room.”

“In other words, I am a lout and not a courtier,” he smiled. “Well, a lout may look at a princess. We have no court etiquette in the hills, I am sorry to say.”

“That was very unkind, even though you said it most becomingly,” she protested. “You have called this pail a throne. Let us also imagine that you are a courtier.”

“You punish me most gently, your highness. I shall not forget my manners again, believe me.” He seemed thoroughly subdued.

“Then I shall expect you to remove that horrid black thing. It is positively villainous. You look much better without it.”

“Is it an edict or a compliment?” he asked with such deep gravity that she flushed.

“It is neither,” she answered. “You don’t have to take it off unless you want to—”

“In either event, it is off. You were right. It serves as a partial disguise. I have many enemies and the black patch is a very good friend.”

“How perfectly lovely,” cried Beverly. “Tell me all about it. I adore stories about feuds and all that.”

“Your husband is an American. He should be able to keep you well entertained with blood-and-thunder stories,” said he.

“My hus—What do you—Oh, yes!” gasped Beverly. “To be sure. I didn’t hear you, I guess. That was rather a severe clap of thunder, wasn’t it?”

“Is that also a command?”

“What do you mean?”

“There was no thunderclap, you know.”

“Oh, wasn’t there?” helplessly.

“The storm is quite past. There is still a dash of rain in the air and the wind may be dying hard, but aside from that I think the noise is quite subdued.”

“I believe you are right. How sudden it all was.”

“There are several hours between this and dawn, your highness, and you should try to get a little more sleep. Your cushions are dry and—”

“Very well, since you are so eager to get rid of—” began Beverly, and then stopped, for it did not sound particularly regal. “I should have said, you are very thoughtful. You will call me if I sleep late?”

“We shall start early, with your permission. It is forty miles to Ganlook, and we must be half way there by nightfall.”

“Must we spend another night like this?” cried Beverly, dolefully.

“Alas, I fear you must endure us another night. I am afraid, however, we shall not find quarters as comfortable as these of the Hawk and Raven.”

“I didn’t mean to be ungrateful and—er—snippish,” she said, wondering if he knew the meaning of the word.

“No?” he said politely, and she knew he did not—whereupon she felt distinctly humbled.

“You know you speak such excellent English,” she said irrelevantly.

He bowed low. As he straightened his figure, to his amazement, he beheld an agonizing look of horror on her face; her eyes riveted on the mouth of the cavern. Then, there came an angrier sound, unlike any that had gone before in that night of turmoil.

“Look there! Quick!”

The cry of terror from the girl’s palsied lips, as she pointed to something behind him, awoke the mountain man to instant action. Instinctively, he snatched his long dagger from its sheath and turned quickly. Not twenty feet from them a huge cat-like beast stood half crouched on the edge of the darkness, his long tail switching angrily. The feeble light from the depth of the cave threw the long, water-soaked visitor into bold relief against the black wall beyond. Apparently, he was as much surprised as the two who glared at him, as though frozen to the spot. A snarling whine, a fierce growl, indicated his fury at finding his shelter—his lair occupied.

“My God! A mountain lion! Ravone! Franz! To me!” he cried hoarsely, and sprang before her shouting loudly to the sleepers.

A score of men, half awake, grasped their weapons and struggled to their feet in answer to his call. The lion’s gaunt body shot through the air. In two bounds, he was upon the goat-hunter. Baldos stood squarely and firmly to meet the rush of the maddened beast, his long dagger poised for the death-dealing blow.

“Run!” he shouted to her.

Beverly Calhoun had fighting blood in her veins. Utterly unconscious of her action, at the time, she quickly drew the little silver-handled revolver from the pocket of her gown. As man, beast and knife came together, in her excitement she fired recklessly at the combatants without any thought of the imminent danger of killing her protector. There was a wild scream of pain from the wounded beast, more pistol shots, fierce yells from the excited hunters, the rush of feet and then the terrified and almost frantic girl staggered and fell against the rocky wall. Her wide gray eyes were fastened upon the writhing lion and the smoking pistol was tightly clutched in her hand.

It had all occurred in such an incredible short space of time that she could not yet realize what had happened.

Her heart and brain seemed paralyzed, her limbs stiff and immovable. Like the dizzy whirl of a kaleidoscope, the picture before her resolved itself into shape.

The beast was gasping his last upon the rocky floor, the hilt of the goat hunter’s dagger protruding from his side. Baldos, supported by two of his men, stood above the savage victim, his legs covered with blood. The cave was full of smoke and the smell of powder. Out of the haze she began to see the light of understanding. Baldos alone was injured. He had stood between her and the rush of the lion, and he had saved her, at a cost she knew not how great.

“Oh, the blood!” she cried hoarsely. “Is it—is it—are you badly hurt?” She was at his side, the pistol falling from her nervous fingers.

“Don’t come near me; I’m all right,” he cried quickly.

“Take care—your dress—”

“Oh, I’m so glad to hear you speak! Never mind the dress! You are torn to pieces! You must be frightfully hurt. Oh, isn’t it terrible—horrible! Aunt Fanny! Come here this minute!”

Forgetting the beast and throwing off the paralysis of fear, she pushed one of the men away and grasped the arm of the injured man. He winced perceptibly and she felt something warm and sticky on her hands. She knew it was blood, but it was not in her to shrink at a moment like this.

“Your arm, too!” she gasped. He smiled, although his face was white with pain. “How brave you were! You might have been—I’ll never forget it—never! Don’t stand there, Aunt Fanny! Quick! Get those cushions for him. He’s hurt.”

“Good Lawd!” was all the old woman could say, but she obeyed her mistress.

“It was easier than it looked, your highness,” murmured Baldos. “Luck was with me. The knife went to his heart. I am merely scratched. His leap was short, but he caught me above the knees with his claws. Alas, your highness, these trousers of mine were bad enough before, but now they are in shreds. What patching I shall have to do! And you may well imagine we are short of thread and needles and thimbles—”

“Don’t jest, for heaven’s sake! Don’t talk like that. Here! Lie down upon these cushions and—”

“Never! Desecrate the couch of Graustark’s ruler? I, the poor goat-hunter? I’ll use the lion for a pillow and the rock for an operating table. In ten minutes my men can have these scratches dressed and bound—in fact, there is a surgical student among them, poor fellow. I think I am his first patient. Ravone, attend me.”

He threw himself upon the ground and calmly placed his head upon the body of the animal.

“I insist upon your taking these cushions,” cried Beverly.

“And I decline irrevocably.” She stared at him in positive anger. “Trust Ravone to dress these trifling wounds, your highness. He may not be as gentle, but he is as firm as any princess in all the world.”

“But your arm?” she cried. “Didn’t you say it was your legs? Your arm is covered with blood, too. Oh, dear me, I’m afraid you are frightfully wounded.”

“A stray bullet from one of my men struck me there, I think. You know there was but little time for aiming—?”

“Wait! Let me think a minute! Good heavens!” she exclaimed with a start. Her eyes were suddenly filled with tears and there was a break in her voice. “I shot you! Don’t deny it—don’t! It is the right arm, and your men could not have hit it from where they stood. Oh, oh, oh!”

Baldos smiled as he bared his arm. “Your aim was good,” he admitted. “Had not my knife already been in the lion’s heart, your bullet would have gone there. It is my misfortune that my arm was in the way. Besides, your highness, it has only cut through the skin—and a little below, perhaps. It will be well in a day or two, I am sure you will find your bullet in the carcass of our lamented friend, the probable owner of this place.”

Ravone, a hungry-looking youth, took charge of the wounded leader, while her highness retreated to the farthest corner of the cavern. There she sat and trembled while the wounds were being dressed. Aunt Fanny bustled back and forth, first unceremoniously pushing her way through the circle of men to take observations, and then reporting to the impatient girl. The storm had passed and the night was still, except for the rush of the river; raindrops fell now and then from the trees, glistening like diamonds as they touched the light from the cavern’s mouth. It was all very dreary, uncanny and oppressive to poor Beverly. Now and then she caught herself sobbing, more out of shame and humiliation than in sadness, for had she not shot the man who stepped between her and death? What must he think of her?

“He says yo’ all ‘d betteh go to baid, Miss Bev—yo’ highness,” said Aunt Fanny after one of her trips.

“Oh, he does, does he?” sniffed Beverly. “I’ll go to bed when I please. Tell him so. No, no—don’t do it, Aunt Fanny! Tell him I’ll go to bed when I’m sure he is quite comfortable, not before.”

“But he’s jes’ a goat puncheh er a—”

“He’s a man, if there ever was one. Don’t let me hear you call him a goat puncher again. How are his legs?” Aunt Fanny was almost stunned by this amazing question from her ever-decorous mistress. “Why don’t you answer? Will they have to be cut off? Didn’t you see them?”

“Fo’ de Lawd’s sake, missy, co’se Ah did, but yo’ all kindeh susprise me. Dey’s p’etty bad skun up, missy; de hide’s peeled up consid’ble. But hit ain’ dang’ous,—no, ma’am. Jes’ skun, ’at’s all.”

“And his arm—where I shot him?”

“Puffec’ly triflin’, ma’am,—yo’ highness. Cobwebs ‘d stop de bleedin’ an’ Ah tole ’em so, but ’at felleh couldn’ un’stan’ me. Misteh what’s-his-names he says something to de docteh, an’ den dey goes afteh de cobwebs, suah ‘nough. ‘Tain’ bleedin’ no mo’, missy. He’s mostes’ neah doin’ we’y fine. Co’se, he cain’ walk fo’ sev’l days wiv dem laigs o’ his’n, but—”

“Then, in heaven’s name, how are we to get to Edelweiss?”

“He c’n ride, cain’t he? Wha’s to hindeh him?”

“Quite right. He shall ride inside the coach. Go and see if I can do anything for him.”

Aunt Fanny returned in a few minutes.

“He says yo’ll do him a great favoh if yo’ jes’ go to baid. He sends his ‘spects an’ hopes yo’ slumbeh won’ be distubbed ag’in.”

“He’s a perfect brute!” exclaimed Beverly, but she went over and crawled under the blankets and among the cushions the wounded man had scorned.

CHAPTER VII

SOME FACTS AND FANCIES

There was a soft, warm, yellow glow to the world when Beverly Calhoun next looked upon it. The sun from his throne in the mountain tops was smiling down upon the valley the night had ravaged while he was on the other side of the earth. The leaves of the trees were a softer green, the white of the rocks and the yellow of the road were of a gentler tint; the brown and green reeds were proudly erect once more.

The stirring of the mountain men had awakened Aunt Fanny, and she in turn called her mistress from the surprisingly peaceful slumber into which perfect health had sent her not so many hours before. At the entrance to the improvised bedchamber stood buckets of water from the spring.

“We have very thoughtful chambermaids,” remarked Beverly while Aunt Fanny was putting her hair into presentable shape. “And an energetic cook,” she added as the odor of broiled meat came to her nostrils.

“Ah cain’ see nothin’ o’ dat beastes, Miss Beverly—an’—Ah—Ah got mah suspicions,” said Aunt Fanny, with sepulchral despair in her voice.

“They’ve thrown the awful thing into the river,” concluded Beverly.

“Dey’s cookin’ hit!” said Aunt Fanny solemnly.

“Good heaven, no!” cried Beverly. “Go and see, this minute. I wouldn’t eat that catlike thing for the whole world.” Aunt Fanny came back a few minutes later with the assurance that they were roasting goat meat. The skin of the midnight visitor was stretched upon the ground not far away.

“And how is he?” asked Beverly, jamming a hat pin through a helpless bunch of violets.

“He’s ve’y ‘spectably skun, yo’ highness.”

“I don’t mean the animal, stupid.”

“Yo’ mean ’at Misteh Goat man? He’s settin’ up an’ chattin’ as if nothin’ happened. He says to me ’at we staht on ouah way jes’ as soon as yo’ all eats yo’ b’eakfus’. De bosses is hitched up an’—”

“Has everybody else eaten? Am I the only one that hasn’t?” cried Beverly.

“’Ceptin’ me, yo’ highness. Ah’m as hungry as a poah man’s dawg, an’—”

“And he is being kept from the hospital because I am a lazy, good-for-nothing little—Come on, Aunt Fanny; we haven’t a minute to spare. If he looks very ill, we do without breakfast.”

But Baldos was the most cheerful man in the party. He was sitting with his back against a tree, his right arm in a sling of woven reeds, his black patch set upon the proper eye.

“You will pardon me for not rising,” he said cheerily, “but, your highness, I am much too awkward this morning to act as befitting a courtier in the presence of his sovereign. You have slept well?”

“Too well, I fear. So well, in fact, that you have suffered for it. Can’t we start at once?” She was debating within herself whether it would be quite good form to shake hands with the reclining hero. In the glare of the broad daylight he and his followers looked more ragged and famished than before, but they also appeared more picturesquely romantic.

“When you have eaten of our humble fare, your highness,—the last meal at the Hawk and Raven.”

“But I’m not a bit hungry.”

“It is very considerate of you, but equally unreasonable. You must eat before we start.”

“I can’t bear the thought of your suffering when we should be hurrying to a hospital and competent surgeons.” He laughed gaily. “Oh, you needn’t laugh. I know it hurts. You say we cannot reach Ganlook before tomorrow? Well, we can’t stop here a minute longer than we—Oh, thank you!” A ragged servitor had placed a rude bowl of meat and some fruit before her.

“Sit down here, your highness, and prepare yourself for a long fast. We may go until nightfall without food. The game is scarce and we dare not venture far into the hills.”

Beverly sat at his feet and daintily began the operation of picking a bone with her pretty fingers teeth. “I am sorry we have no knives and forks” he apologized.

“I don’t mind”’ said she. “I wish you would remove that black patch.”

“Alas, I must resume the hated disguise. A chance enemy might recognize me.”

“Your—your clothes have been mended,” she remarked with a furtive glance at his long legs. The trousers had been rudely sewed up and no bandages were visible. “Are you—your legs terribly hurt???”

“They are badly scratched, but not seriously. The bandages are skilfully placed,” he added, seeing her look of doubt. “Ravone is a genius.”

“Well, I’ll hurry,” she said, blushing deeply. Goat-hunter though he was and she a princess, his eyes gleamed with the joy of her beauty and his heart thumped with a most unruly admiration. “You were very, very brave last night,” she said at last—and her rescuer smiled contentedly.

She was not long in finishing the rude but wholesome meal, and then announced her readiness to be on the way. With the authority of a genuine princess she commanded him to ride inside the coach, gave incomprehensible directions to the driver and to the escort, and would listen to none of his protestations. When the clumsy vehicle was again in the highway and bumping over the ridges of flint, the goat-hunter was beside his princess on the rear seat, his feet upon the opposite cushions near Aunt Fanny, a well-arranged bridge of boxes and bags providing support for his long legs.

“We want to go to a hospital,” Beverly had said to the driver, very much as she might have spoken had she been in Washington. She was standing bravely beside the forewheel, her face flushed and eager. Baldos, from his serene position on the cushions, watched her with kindling eyes. The grizzled driver grinned and shook his head despairingly. “Oh, pshaw! You don’t understand, do you? Hospital—h-o-s-p-i-t-a-l,” she spelt it out for him, and still he shook his head. Others in the motley retinue were smiling broadly.

“Speak to him in your own language, your highness, and he will be sure to understand,” ventured the patient.

“I am speaking in my—I mean, I prefer to speak in English. Please tell him to go to a hospital,” she said confusedly. Baldos gave a few jovial instructions, and then the raggedest courtier of them all handed Beverly into the carriage with a grace that amazed her.

“You are the most remarkable goat-hunters I have ever seen,” she remarked in sincere wonder.

“And you speak the most perfect English I’ve ever heard,” he replied.

“Oh, do you really think so? Miss Grimes used to say I was hopeless. You know I had a—a tutor,” she hastily explained. “Don’t you think it strange we’ve met no Axphain soldiers?” she went on, changing the subject abruptly.

“We are not yet out of the woods,” he said.

“That was a purely American aphorism,” she cried, looking at him intently. “Where did you learn all your English?”

“I had a tutor,” he answered easily.

“You are a very odd person,” she sighed. “I don’t believe that you are a goat-hunter at all.”

“If I were not a goat-hunter I should have starved long ago,” he said. “Why do you doubt me?”

“Simply because you treat me one moment as if I were a princess, and the next as if I were a child. Humble goat-hunters do not forget their station in life.”

“I have much to learn of the deference due to queens,” he said.

“That’s just like ‘The Mikado’ or ‘Pinafore,’” she exclaimed. “I believe you are a comic-opera brigand or a pirate chieftain, after all.”

“I am a lowly outcast,” he smiled.

“Well, I’ve decided to take you into Edelweiss and—”

“Pardon me, your highness,” he said firmly, “That cannot be. I shall not go to Edelweiss.”

“But I command you—”

“It’s very kind of you, but I cannot enter a hospital—not even at Ganlook. I may as well confess that I am a hunted man and that the instructions are to take me dead or alive.”

“Impossible!” she gasped, involuntarily shrinking from him.

“I have wronged no man, yet I am being hunted down as though I were a beast,” he said, his face turning haggard for the moment. “The hills of Graustark, the plateaus of Axphain and the valleys of Dawsbergen are alive with men who are bent on ending my unhappy but inconvenient existence. It would be suicide for me to enter any one of your towns or cities. Even you could not protect me, I fear.”

“This sounds like a dream. Oh, dear me, you don’t look like a hardened criminal,” she cried.

“I am the humble leader of a faithful band who will die with me when the time comes. We are not criminals, your highness. In return for what service I may have performed for you, I implore you to question me no further. Let me be your slave up to the walls of Ganlook, and then you may forget Baldos, the goat-hunter.”

“I never can forget you,” she cried, touching his injured arm gently. “Will you forget the one who gave you this wound?”

“It is a very gentle wound, and I love it so that I pray it may never heal.” She looked away suddenly.

“Tell me one thing,” she said, a mist coming over her eyes. “You say they are hunting you to the death. Then—then your fault must be a grievous one. Have you—have you killed a man?” she added hastily. He was silent for a long time.

“I fear I have killed more than one man,” he said in low tones. Again she shrank into the corner of the coach. “History says that your father was a brave soldier and fought in many battles,” he went on.

“Yes,” she said, thinking of Major George Calhoun.

“He killed men then, perhaps, as I have killed them,” he said.

“Oh, my father never killed a man!” cried Beverly, in devout horror.

“Yet Graustark reveres his mighty prowess on the field of battle,” said he, half laconically.

“Oh,” she murmured, remembering that she was now the daughter of Yetive’s father. “I see. You are not a—a—a mere murderer, then?”

“No. I have been a soldier—that is all.”

“Thank heaven!” she murmured, and was no longer afraid of him. “Would—would a pardon be of any especial benefit to you?” she asked, wondering how far her influence might go with the Princess Yetive.

“It is beyond your power to help me,” he said gravely. She was silent, but it was the silence of deep reflection. “Your highness left the castle ten days ago,” he said, dismissing himself as a subject for conversation. “Have you kept in close communication with Edelweiss during that time?”

“I know nothing of what is going on there,” she said, quite truthfully. She only knew that she had sent a message to the Princess Yetive, apprising her of her arrival In St. Petersburg and of her intention to leave soon for the Graustark capital.

“Then you do not know that Mr. Lorry is still on the Dawsbergen frontier in conference with representatives from Serros. He may not return for a week, so Colonel Quinnox brings back word.”

“It’s news to me,” murmured Beverly.

“You do not seem to be alarmed,” he ventured. “Yet I fancy it is not a dangerous mission, although Prince Gabriel is ready to battle at a moment’s notice.”

“I have the utmost confidence in Mr. Lorry,” said Beverly, with proper pride.

“Baron Dangloss, your minister of police, is in these mountains watching the operations of Axphain scouts and spies.”

“Is he? You are very well posted, it seems.”

“Moreover, the Axphainians are planning to attack Ganlook upon the first signal from their ruler. I do not wish to alarm your highness, but we may as well expect trouble before we come to the Ganlook gates You are known to be in the pass, and I am certain an effort will be made to take possession of your person.”

“They wouldn’t dare!” she exclaimed. “Uncle Sam would annihilate them In a week.”

“Uncle Sam? Is he related to your Aunt Fanny? I’m afraid he could do but little against Volga’s fighting men,” he said, with a smile.

“They’d soon find out who Uncle Sam is if they touch me,” she threatened grandly. He seemed puzzled, but was too polite to press her for explanations. “But, he is a long way off and couldn’t do much if we were suddenly attacked from ambush, could he? What would they do to me if I were taken, as you suggest?” she was more concerned than she appeared to be.

“With you in their hands, Graustark would be utterly helpless. Volga could demand anything she liked, and your ministry would be forced to submit.”

“I really think it would be a capital joke on the Princess Volga,” mused Beverly reflectively. He did not know what she meant, but regarded her soft smile as the clear title to the serenity of a princess.

She sank back and gave herself over to the complications that were likely to grow out of her involuntary deception. The one thing which worried her more than all others was the fear that Yetive might not be in Edelweiss. According to all reports, she had lately been in St. Petersburg and the mere fact that she was supposed to be traveling by coach was sufficient proof that she was not at her capital. Then there was, of course, the possibility of trouble on the road with the Axphain scouts, but Beverly enjoyed the optimism of youth and civilization.

Baldos, the goat-hunter, was dreamily thinking of the beautiful young woman at his side and of the queer freak Fortune had played in bringing them together. As he studied her face he could not but lament that marriage, at least, established a barrier between her and the advances his bold heart might otherwise be willing to risk. His black hair straggled down over his forehead and his dark eyes—the patch had been surreptitiously lifted—were unusually pensive.

“It is strange that you live in Graustark and have not seen its princess—before,” she said, laying groundwork for enquiry concerning the acts and whereabouts of the real princess.

“May it please your highness, I have not lived long in Graustark. Besides, it is said that half the people of Ganlook have never looked upon your face.”

“I’m not surprised at that. The proportion is much smaller than I imagined. I have not visited Ganlook, strange as it may seem to you.”

“One of my company fell in with some of your guards from the Ganlook garrison day before yesterday. He learned that you were to reach that city within forty-eight hours. A large detachment of men has been sent to meet you at Labbot.”

“Oh, indeed,” said Beverly, very much interested.

“They must have been misinformed as to your route—or else your Russian escort decided to take you through by the lower and more hazardous way. It was our luck that you came by the wrong road. Otherwise we should not have met each other—and the lion,” he said, smiling reflectively.

“Where is Labbot?” asked she, intent upon the one subject uppermost in her mind.

“In the mountains many leagues north of this pass. Had you taken that route instead of this, you would by this time have left Labbot for the town of Erros, a half-day’s journey from Ganlook. Instead of vagabonds, your escort would have been made up of loyal soldiers, well-fed, well-clad, and well satisfied with themselves, at least.”

“But no braver, no truer than my soldiers of fortune,” she said earnestly. “By the way, are you informed as to the state of affairs in Dawsbergen?”

“Scarcely as well as your highness must be,” he replied.

“The young prince—what’s his name?” she paused, looking to him for the name.

“Dantan?”

“Yes, that’s it. What has become of him? I am terribly interested in him.”

“He is a fugitive, they say.”

“They haven’t captured him, then? Good! I am so glad.”

Baldos exhibited little or no interest in the fresh topic.

“It is strange you should have forgotten his name,” he said wearily.

“Oh, I do so many ridiculous things!” complained Beverly, remembering who she was supposed to be. “I have never seen him, you know,” she added.

“It is not strange, your highness. He was educated in England and had seen but little of his own country when he was called to the throne two years ago. You remember, of course, that his mother was an Englishwoman—Lady Ida Falconer.”

“I—I think I have heard some of his history—a very little, to be sure,” she explained lamely.

“Prince Gabriel, his half brother, is the son of Prince Louis the Third by his first wife, who was a Polish countess. After her death, when Gabriel was two years old, the prince married Lady Ida. Dantan is their son. He has a sister—Candace, who is but nineteen years of age.”

“I am ashamed to confess that you know so much more about my neighbors than I,” she said.

“I lived in Dawsbergen for a little while, and was ever interested in the doings of royalty. That is a poor man’s privilege, you know.”

“Prince Gabriel must be a terrible man,” cried Beverly, her heart swelling with tender thoughts of the exiled Dantan and his little sister.

“You have cause to know,” said he shortly, and she was perplexed until she recalled the stories of Gabriel’s misdemeanors at the court of Edelweiss.

“Is Prince Dantan as handsome as they say he is?” she asked.

“It is entirely a matter of opinion,” he replied. “I, for one, do not consider him at all prepossessing.”

The day went on, fatiguing, distressing in its length and its happenings. Progress was necessarily slow, the perils of the road increasing as the little cavalcade wound deeper and deeper into the wilderness. There were times when the coach fairly crawled along the edge of a precipice, a proceeding so hazardous that Beverly shuddered as if in a chill. Aunt Fanny slept serenely most of the time, and Baldos took to dreaming with his eyes wide open. Contrary to her expectations, the Axphainians did not appear, and if there were robbers in the hills they thought better than to attack the valorous-looking party. It dawned upon her finally that the Axphainians were guarding the upper route and not the one over which she was traveling. Yetive doubtless was approaching Ganlook over the northern pass, provided the enemy had not been encountered before Labbot was reached. Beverly soon found herself fearing for the safety of the princess, a fear which at last became almost unendurable.

Near nightfall they came upon three Graustark shepherds and learned that Ganlook could not be reached before the next afternoon. The tired, hungry travelers spent the night in a snug little valley through which a rivulet bounded onward to the river below. The supper was a scant one, the foragers having poor luck in the hunt for food. Daybreak saw them on their way once more. Hunger and dread had worn down Beverly’s supply of good spirits; she was having difficulty in keeping the haggard, distressed look from her face. Her tender, hopeful eyes were not so bold or so merry as on the day before; cheerfulness cost her an effort, but she managed to keep it fairly alive. Her escort, wretched and half-starved, never forgot the deference due to their charge, but strode steadily on with the doggedness of martyrs. At times she was impelled to disclose her true identity, but discretion told her that deception was her best safeguard.

Late in the afternoon of the second day the front axle of the coach snapped in two, and a tedious delay of two hours ensued. Baldos was strangely silent and subdued. It was not until the misfortune came that Beverly observed the flushed condition of his face. Involuntarily and with the compassion of a true woman she touched his hand and brow. They were burning-hot. The wounded man was in a high fever. He laughed at her fears and scoffed at the prospect of blood-poisoning and the hundred other possibilities that suggested themselves to her anxious brain.

“We are close to Ganlook,” he said, with the setting of the sun. “Soon you may be relieved of your tiresome, cheerless company, your highness.”

“You are going to a physician,” she said, resolutely, alive and active once more, now that the worst part of the journey was coming to an end. “Tell that man to drive in a gallop all the rest of the way!”

CHAPTER VIII

THROUGH THE GANLOOK GATES

By this time they were passing the queer little huts that marked the outskirts of a habitable community. These were the homes of shepherds, hunters and others whose vocations related especially to the mountains. Farther on there were signs of farming interests; the homes became more numerous and more pretentious in appearance. The rock-lined gorge broadened into a fertile valley; the road was smooth and level, a condition which afforded relief to the travelers. Ravone had once more dressed the wounds inflicted by the lion; but he was unable to provide anything to subdue the fever. Baldos was undeniably ill. Beverly, between her exclamations of joy and relief at being in sight of Ganlook, was profuse in her expressions of concern for the hero of the Hawk and Raven. The feverish gleam in his dark eyes and the pain that marked his face touched her deeply. Suffering softened his lean, sun-browned features, obliterating the mocking lines that had impressed her so unfavorably at the outset. She was saying to herself that he was handsome after a most unusual cast; it was an unforgetable face.

“Your highness,” he said earnestly, after she had looked long and anxiously at his half-closed eyes, “we are within an hour of Ganlook. It will be dark before we reach the gates, I know, but you have nothing to fear during the rest of the trip. Franz shall drive you to the sentry post and turn over the horses to your own men. My friends and I must leave you at the end of the mountain road. We are—”

“Ridiculous!” she cried. “I’ll not permit it! You must go to a hospital.”

“If I enter the Ganlook gates it will be the same as entering the gates of death,” he protested.

“Nonsense! You have a fever or you wouldn’t talk like that. I can promise you absolute security.”

“You do not understand, your highness.”

“Nevertheless, you are going to a hospital,” she firmly said. “You would die out here in the wilds, so what are the odds either way? Aunt Fanny, will you be careful? Don’t you know that the least movement of those bags hurts him?”

“Please, do not mind me, your highness. I am doing very well,” he said, smiling.

The coach brought up in front of a roadside inn. While some of the men were watering the horses others gathered about its open window. A conversation in a tongue utterly incomprehensible to Beverly took place between Baldos and his followers. The latter seemed to be disturbed about something, and there was no mistaking the solicitous air with which they regarded their leader. The pseudo-princess was patient as long as possible and then broke into the discussion.

“What do they want?” she demanded in English.

“They are asking for instructions,” he answered.

“Instruct them to do as I bid,” she said. “Tell them to hurry along and get you a doctor; that’s all.”

Evidently his friends were of the same opinion, for after a long harangue in which he was obdurate to the last, they left the carriage and he sank back with a groan of dejection.

“What is it?” she anxiously demanded.

“They also insist that I shall go to a surgeon,” he said hopelessly. His eyes were moist and he could not meet her gaze. She was full of exultation.

“They have advised me to put myself under your protection, shameless as that may seem to a man. You and you alone have the power to protect me if I pass beyond the walls of Ganlook.”

“I?” she cried, all a-flutter.

“I could not thrust my head into the jaws of death unless the princess of Graustark were there to stay their fury. Your royal hand alone can turn aside the inevitable. Alas, I am helpless and know not what to do.”

Beverly Calhoun sat very straight and silent beside the misguided Baldos. After all, it was not within her power to protect him. She was not the princess and she had absolutely no influence in Ganlook. The authorities there could not be deceived as had been these ignorant men of the hills. If she led him into the city it was decidedly probable that she might be taking him to his death. She only could petition, not command. Once at Yetive’s side she was confident she could save the man who had done so much for her, but Ganlook was many miles from Edelweiss, and there was no assurance that intervention could be obtained in time. On the other hand, if he went back to the hills he was likely to die of the poisonous fever. Beverly was in a most unhappy state of mind. If she confessed to him that she was not the princess, he would refuse to enter the gates of Ganlook, and be perfectly justified in doing so.

“But if I should fail?” she asked, at last, a shiver rushing over her and leaving her cold with dread.

“You are the only hope, your highness. You had better say farewell to Baldos and let him again seek the friendly valley,” said he wearily. “We can go no farther. The soldiers must be near, your highness. It means capture if we go on. I cannot expose my friends to the dangers. Let me be put down here, and do you drive on to safety. I shall fare much better than you think, for I am young and strong and—”

“No! I’ll risk it,” she cried. “You must go into the city. Tell them so and say that I will protect you with my own life and honor.”

Fever made him submissive; her eyes gave him confidence; her voice soothed his fears, if he possessed them. Leaning from the window, he called his men together. Beverly looked on in wonder as these strange men bade farewell to their leader. Many of them were weeping, and most of them kissed his hand. There were broken sentences, tear-choked promises, anxious inquiries, and the parting was over.

“Where are they going?” Beverly whispered, as they moved away in the dusk.

“Back into the mountains to starve, poor fellows. God be kind to them, God be good to them,” he half sobbed, his chin dropping to his breast. He was trembling like a leaf.

“Starve?” she whispered. “Have they no money?”

“We are penniless,” came in muffled tones from the stricken leader.

Beverly leaned from the window and called to the departing ones. Ravone and one other reluctantly approached. Without a word she opened a small traveling bag and drew forth a heavy purse. This she pressed into the hand of the student. It was filled with Graustark gavvos, for which she had exchanged American gold in Russia.

“God be with you,” she fervently cried. He kissed her hand, and the two stood aside to let the coach roll on into the dusky shadows that separated them from the gates of Ganlook, old Franz still driving—the only one of the company left to serve his leader to the very end.

“Well, we have left them,” muttered Baldos, as though to himself. “I may never see them again—never see them again. God, how true they have been!”

“I shall send for them the moment I get to Ganlook and I’ll promise pardons for them all,” she cried rashly, in her compassion.

“No!” he exclaimed fiercely. “You are not to disturb them. Better that they should starve.”

Beverly was sufficiently subdued. As they drew nearer the city gates her heart began to fail her. This man’s life was in her weak, incapable hands and the time was nearing when she must stand between him and disaster.

“Where are these vaunted soldiers of yours?” he suddenly asked, infinite irony in his voice.

“My soldiers?” she said faintly.

“Isn’t it rather unusual that, in time of trouble and uncertainty, we should be able to approach within a mile of one of your most important cities without even so much as seeing a soldier of Graustark?”

She felt that he was scoffing, but it mattered little to her.

“It is a bit odd, isn’t it?” she agreed.

“Worse than that, your highness.”

“I shall speak to Dangloss about it,” she said serenely, and he looked up in new surprise. Truly, she was an extraordinary princess.

Fully three-quarters of an hour passed before the coach was checked. Beverly, looking from the windows, had seem the lighted windows of cottages growing closer and closer together. The barking of roadside dogs was the only sound that could be heard above the rattle of the wheels. It was too dark inside the coach to see the face of the man beside her, but something told her that he was staring intently into the night, alert and anxious. The responsibility of her position swooped down upon her like an avalanche as she thought of what the next few minutes were to bring forth. It was the sudden stopping of the coach and the sharp commands from the outside that told her probation was at an end. She could no longer speculate; it was high time to act.

“The outpost,” came from Baldos, in strained tones.

“Perhaps they won’t know us—you, I mean,” she whispered.

“Baron Dangloss knows everybody,” he replied bitterly.

“What a horrid old busy-body he—” she started to say, but thought better of it.

A couple of lanterns flashed at the window, almost blinding her. Aunt Fanny groaned audibly, but the figure of Baldos seemed to stiffen with defiance. Uniformed men peered into the interior with more rudeness and curiosity than seemed respectful to a princess, to say the least. They saw a pretty, pleading face, with wide gray eyes and parted lips, but they did not bow in humble submission as Baldos had expected. One of the men, evidently in command, addressed Beverly in rough but polite tones. It was a question that he asked, she knew, but she could not answer him, for she could not understand him.

“What do you want?” she put in English, with a creditable display of dignity.

“He does not speak English, your highness,” volunteered Baldos, in a voice so well disguised that it startled her. The officer was staring blankly at her.

“Every officer in my army should and must learn to speak English,” she said, at her wits’ end, “I decline to be questioned by the fellow. Will you talk to him in my stead?”

“I, your highness?” he cried in dismay.

“Yes. Tell him who we are and ask where the hospital is,” she murmured, sinking back with the air of a queen, but with the inward feeling that all was lost.

“But I don’t speak your language well,” he protested.

“You speak it beautifully,” she said. Baldos leaned forward painfully and spoke to the officer in the Graustark tongue.

“Don’t you know your princess?” he demanded, a trifle harshly. The man’s eyes flew wide open in an instant and his jaw dropped.

“Th—the princess?” he gasped.

“Don’t stare like that, sir. Direct us to the main gate at once, or you will have cause to regret your slowness.”

“But the princess was—is coming by the northern pass,” mumbled the man. “The guard has gone out to meet her and—” Baldos cut him off shortly with the information that the princess, as he could see, had come by the lower pass and that she was eager to reach a resting-place at once. The convincing tone of the speaker and the regal indifference of the lady had full effect upon the officer, who had never seen her highness. He fell back with a deep obeisance, and gave a few bewildered commands to his men. The coach moved off, attended by a party of foot-soldiers, and Beverly breathed her first sigh of relief.

“You did it beautifully,” she whispered to Baldos, and he was considerably puzzled by the ardor of her praise. “Where are we going now?” she asked.

“Into the city, your highness,” he answered. It was beginning to dawn upon him that she was amazingly ignorant and inconsequential for one who enjoyed the right to command these common soldiers. Her old trepidation returned with this brief answer. Something told her that he was beginning to mistrust her at last. After all, it meant everything to him and so little to her.

When the coach halted before the city gates she was in a dire state of unhappiness. In the darkness she could feel the reproachful eyes of old Aunt Fanny searching for her abandoned conscience.

“Ask if Baron Dangloss is in Ganlook, and, if he is, command them to take me to him immediately,” she whispered to Baldos, a sudden inspiration seizing her. She would lay the whole matter before the great chief of police, and trust to fortune. Her hand fell impulsively upon his and, to her amazement, it was as cold as ice. “What is the matter?” she cried in alarm.

“You trusted me in the wilds, your highness,” he said tensely; “I am trusting you now.” Before she could reply the officer in charge of the Ganlook gates appeared at the coach window. There were lights on all sides. Her heart sank like lead. It would be a miracle if she passed the gates unrecognized.

“I must see Baron Dangloss at once,” she cried in English, utterly disdaining her instructions to Baldos.

“The baron is engaged at present and can see no one,” responded the good-looking young officer in broken English.

“Where is he?” she demanded nervously.

“He is at the home of Colonel Goaz, the commandant. What is your business with him?”

“It is with him and not with you, sir,” she said, imperious once more. “Conduct me to him immediately.”

“You cannot enter the gates unless you—”

“Insolence!” exclaimed Baldos. “Is this the way, sir, in which you address the princess? Make way for her.”

“The princess!” gasped the officer. Then a peculiar smile overspread his face. He had served three years in the Castle Guard at Edelweiss! There was a long pause fraught with disaster for Beverly. “Yes, perhaps it is just as well that we conduct her to Baron Dangloss,” he said at last. The deep meaning in his voice appealed only to the unhappy girl. “There shall be no further delay, your highness!” he added mockingly. A moment later the gates swung open and they passed through. Beverly alone knew that they were going to Baron Dangloss under heavy guard, virtually as prisoners. The man knew her to be an impostor and was doing only his duty.

There were smiles of derision on the faces of the soldiers when Beverly swept proudly between the files and up the steps leading to the commandant’s door, but there were no audible remarks. Baldos followed, walking painfully but defiantly, and Aunt Fanny came last with the handbag. The guards grinned broadly as the corpulent negress waddled up the steps. The young officer and two men entered the door with the wayfarers, who were ordered to halt in the hallway.

“Will your highness come with me?” said the officer, returning to the hall after a short absence. There was unmistakable derision in his voice and palpable insolence in his manner. Beverly flushed angrily. “Baron Dangloss is very curious to see you,” he added, with a smile. Nevertheless, he shrank a bit beneath the cold gleam in the eyes of the impostor.

“You will remain here,” she said, turning to Baldos and the negress. “And you will have nothing whatever to say to this very important young man.” The “important young man” actually chuckled.

“Follow me, your most royal highness,” he said, preceding her through the door that opened into the office of the commandant. Baldos glared after them in angry amazement.

“Young man, some day and soon you will be a much wiser soldier and, in the ranks,” said Beverly hotly. The smile instantly receded from the insolent fellow’s face, for there was a world of prophecy in the way she said it. Somehow, he was in a much more respectful humor when he returned to the hall and stood in the presence of the tall, flushed stranger with the ragged uniform.

A short, fierce little man in the picturesque uniform of a Graustark officer arose as Beverly entered the office. His short beard bristled as though it were concealing a smile, but his manner was polite, even deferential. She advanced fearlessly toward him, a wayward smile struggling into her face.

“I daresay you know I am not the princess,” she said composedly. Every vestige of fear was gone now that she had reached the line of battle. The doughty baron looked somewhat surprised at this frank way of opening the interview.

“I am quite well aware of it,” he said politely.

“They say you know everyone, Baron Dangloss,” she boldly said. “Pray, who am I?”

The powerful official looked at the smiling face for a moment, his bushy eyebrows contracting ever so slightly. There was a shameless streak of dust across her cheek, but there was also a dimple there that appealed to the grim old man. His eyes twinkled as he replied, with fine obsequiousness:

“You are Miss Beverly Calhoun, of Washington.”

CHAPTER IX

THE REDOUBTABLE DANGLOSS

Beverly’s eyes showed her astonishment. Baron Dangloss courteously placed a chair for her and asked her to be seated.

“We were expecting you, Miss Calhoun,” he explained. “Her royal highness left St. Petersburg but a few hours after your departure, having unfortunately missed you.”

“You don’t mean to say that the princess tried to find me in St. Petersburg?” cried Beverly, in wonder and delight.

“That was one of the purposes of her visit,” said he brusquely.

“Oh, how jolly!” cried she, her gray eyes sparkling. The grim old captain was startled for the smallest fraction of a minute, but at once fell to admiring the fresh, eager face of the visitor.

“The public at large is under the impression that she visited the Czar on matters of importance,” he said, with a condescending smile.

“And it really was of no importance at all, that’s what you mean?” she smiled back securely.

“Your message informing her highness of your presence in St. Petersburg had no sooner arrived than she set forth to meet you in that city, much against the advice of her counsellors. I will admit that she had other business there but it could have waited. You see, Miss Calhoun, it was a great risk at this particular time. Misfortune means disaster now. But Providence was her friend. She arrived safely in Ganlook not an hour since.”

“Really? Oh, Baron Dangloss, where is she?” excitedly cried the American girl.

“For the night she is stopping with the Countess Rallowitz. A force of men, but not those whom you met at the gates, has just been dispatched at her command to search for you in the lower pass. You took the most dangerous road, Miss Calhoun, and I am amazed that you came through in safety.”

“The Russians chose the lower pass, I know not why. Of course, I was quite ignorant. However, we met neither brigands nor soldiers, Axphain or Graustark. I encountered nothing more alarming than a mountain lion. And that, Baron Dangloss, recalls me to the sense of a duty I have been neglecting. A poor wanderer in the hills defended me against the beast and was badly wounded. He must be taken to a hospital at once, sir, where he may have the proper care.”

Whereupon, at his request, she hurriedly related the story of that trying journey through the mountains, not forgetting to paint the courage of Baldos in most glowing colors. The chief was deeply interested in the story of the goat-hunter and his party. There was an odd gleam of satisfaction in his eyes, but she did not observe it.

“You will see that he has immediate attention, won’t you?” she implored in the end.

“He shall have our deepest consideration,” promised he.

“You know I am rather interested, because I shot him, just as if it were not enough that his legs were being torn by the brute at the time. He ought not to walk, Baron Dangloss. If you don’t mind, I’d suggest an ambulance,” she hurried on glibly. He could not conceal the smile that her eagerness inspired. “Really, he is in a serious condition. I think he needs some quinine and whiskey, too, and—”

“He shall have the best of care,” interrupted the captain. “Leave him to me, Miss Calhoun.”

“Now, let me tell you something,” said she, after due reflection. “You must not pay any attention to what he says. He is liable to be delirious and talk in a terrible sort of way. You know delirious people never talk rationally.” She was loyally trying to protect Baldos, the hunted, against any incriminating statements he might make.

“Quite right, Miss Calhoun,” said the baron very gravely.

“And now, I’d like to go to the princess,” said Beverly, absolutely sure of herself. “You know we are great friends, she and I.”

“I have sent a messenger to announce your arrival. She will expect you.” Beverly looked about the room in perplexity.

“But there has been no messenger here,” she said.

“He left here some minutes before you came. I knew who it was that came knocking at our gates, even though she traveled as Princess Yetive of Graustark.”

“And, oh! that reminds me, Baron Dangloss, Baldos still believes me to be the princess. Is it necessary to—to tell him the truth about me? Just at present, I mean? I’m sure he’ll rest much easier if he doesn’t know differently.”

“So far as I am concerned, Miss Calhoun, he shall always regard you as a queen,” said Dangloss gallantly.

“Thank you. It’s very nice of you to—”

A man in uniform entered after knocking at the door of the room. He saluted his superior and uttered a few words in his own language.

“Her royal highness is awaiting you at the home of the countess, Miss Calhoun. A detail of men will escort you and your servant to her place.”

“Now, please, Baron Dangloss,” pleaded Beverly at the door, “be nice to him. You know it hurts him to walk. Can’t you have him carried in?”

“If he will consent,” said he quietly. Beverly hurried into the outer room, after giving the baron a smile he never forgot. Baldos looked up eagerly, anxiously.

“It’s all right,” she said in low tones, pausing for a moment beside his chair. “Don’t get up! Good-bye. I’ll come to see you tomorrow. Don’t be in the least disturbed. Baron Dangloss has his instructions.” Impulsively giving him her hand which he respectfully raised to his lips, she followed Aunt Fanny and was gone.

Almost immediately Baldos was requested to present himself before Baron Dangloss in the adjoining room. Refusing to be carried in, he resolutely strode through the door and stood before the grim old captain of police, an easy, confident smile on his face. The black patch once more covered his eye with defiant assertiveness.

“They tell me you are Baldos, a goat-hunter,” said Baron Dangloss, eyeing him keenly.

“Yes.”

“And you were hurt in defending one who is of much consequence in Graustark. Sit down, my good fellow.” Baldos’ eyes gleamed coldly for an instant. Then he sank into a chair. “While admitting that you have done Graustark a great service, I am obliged to tell you that I, at least, know you to be other than what you say. You are not a goat-hunter, and Baldos is not your name. Am I not right?”

“You have had instructions from your sovereign, Baron Dangloss. Did they include a command to cross-question me?” asked Baldos haughtily. Dangloss hesitated for a full minute.

“They did not. I take the liberty of inquiring on my own responsibility.”

“Very well, sir. Until you have a right to question me, I am Baldos and a goat-hunter. I think I am here to receive surgical treatment.”

“You decline to tell me anything concerning yourself?”

“Only that I am injured and need relief.”

“Perhaps I know more about you than you suspect, sir.”

“I am not in the least interested, Baron Dangloss, in what you know. The princess brought me into Ganlook, and I have her promise of help and protection while here. That is all I have to say, except that I have implicit faith in her word.”

Dangloss sat watching him in silence for some time. No one but himself knew what was going on in that shrewd, speculative mind. At length he arose and approached the proud fellow in rags.

“You have earned every consideration at our hands. My men will take you to the hospital and you shall have the best of care. You have served our princess well. Tomorrow you may feel inclined to talk more freely with me, for I am your friend, Baldos.”

“I am grateful for that, Baron Dangloss,” said the other simply. Then hewas led away and a comfortable cot in the Ganlook hospital soon held his long, feverish frame, while capable hands took care of his wounds. He did not know it, but two fully armed soldiers maintained a careful guard outside his door under instructions from the head of the police. Moreover, a picked detail of men sallied forth into the lower pass in search of the goat-hunter’s followers.

In the meantime Beverly was conducted to the home of the Countess Rallowitz. Her meeting with the princess was most affectionate. There were tears, laughter and kisses. The whole atmosphere of the place suggested romance to the eager American girl. Downstairs were the royal guards; in the halls were attendants; all about were maidservants and obsequious lackeys, crowding the home of the kindly countess. At last, comfortable and free from the dust of travel, the two friends sat down to a dainty meal.

“Oh, I am so delighted,” murmured Beverly for the hundredth time.

“I’m appalled when I think of the dangers you incurred in coming to me. No one but a very foolish American girl could have undertaken such a trip as this. Dear me, Beverly, I should have died if anything dreadful had happened to you. Why did you do it?” questioned the princess. And then they laughed joyously.

“And you went all the way to St. Petersburg to meet me, you dear, dear Yetive,” cried Beverly, so warmly that the attentive servant forgot his mask of reverence.

“Wasn’t it ridiculous of me? I know Gren would have forbidden it if he had been in Edelweiss when I started. And, more shame to me, the poor fellow is doubtless at the conference with Dawsbergen, utterly ignorant of my escapade. You should have heard the ministry—er—ah—” and the princess paused for an English word.

“Kick?” Beverly supplied.

“Yes. They objected violently. And, do you know, I was finally compelled to issue a private edict to restrain them from sending an appeal to Grenfall away off there on the frontier. Whether or no, my uncle insisted that he should be brought home, a three-days’ journey, in order that he might keep me from going to St. Petersburg. Of course, they could not disobey my edict, and so poor Gren is none the wiser, unless he has returned from the conference. If he has, I am sure he is on the way to Ganlook at this very minute.”

“What a whimsical ruler you are,” cried Beverly. “Upsetting everything sensible just to rush off hundreds of miles to meet me. And Axphain is trying to capture you, too! Goodness, you must love me!”

“Oh, but I did have a trifling affair of state to lay before the Czar, my dear. Tomorrow we shall be safe and sound in the castle and it will all be very much worth while. You see, Beverly, dear, even princesses enjoy a diversion now and then. One wouldn’t think anything of this adventure in the United States; it is the environment that makes it noticeable. Besides, you traveled as a princess. How did you like it?”

And then the conversation related particularly to the advantages of royalty as viewed from one side and the disadvantages as regarded from another. For a long time Beverly had been wondering how she should proceed in the effort to secure absolute clemency for Baldos. As yet she had said nothing to Yetive of her promise to him, made while she was a princess.

“At any rate, I’m sure the goat-hunters would not have been so faithful and true if they had not believed me to be a princess,” said Beverly, paving the way. “You haven’t a man in your kingdom who could be more chivalrous than Baldos.”

“If he is that kind of a man, he would treat any woman as gently.”

“You should have heard him call me ‘your highness,’” cried Beverly. “He will loathe me if he ever learns that I deceived him.”

“Oh, I think he deceived himself,” spoke Yetive easily. “Besides, you look as much like a princess as I.”

“There is something I want to speak very seriously about to you, Yetive,” said Beverly, making ready for the cast. “You see, he did not want to enter Ganlook with me, but I insisted. He had been so brave and gallant, and he was suffering so intensely. It would have been criminal in me to leave him out there in the wilderness, wouldn’t it?”

“It would have been heartless.”

“So I just made him come along. That was right, wasn’t it? That’s what you would have done, no matter who he was or what his objections might have been. Well, you see, it’s this way, Yetive: he is some sort of a fugitive—not a criminal, you know—but just some one they are hunting for, I don’t know why. He wouldn’t tell me. That was perfectly right, if he felt that way, wasn’t it?”

“And he had fought a lion in your defense,” supplemented Yetive, with a schoolgirl’s ardor.

“And I had shot him in the arm, too,” added Beverly. “So of course, I just had to be reasonable. In order to induce him to come with me to a hospital, I was obliged to guarantee perfect safety to him. His men went back to the hills, all except old Franz, the driver. Now, the trouble is this, Yetive: I am not the princess and I cannot redeem a single promise I made to him. He is helpless, and if anything goes wrong with him he will hate me forever.”

“No; he will hate me for I am the princess and he is none the wiser.”

“But he will be told that his princess was Beverly Calhoun, a supposedly nice American girl. Don’t you see how awkward it will be for me? Now, Yetive, darling, what I wish you to do is to write a note, order or edict or whatever it is to Baron Dangloss, commanding him to treat Baldos as a patient and not as a prisoner; and that when he is fully recovered he is to have the privilege of leaving Ganlook without reservation.”

“But he may be a desperate offender against the state, Beverly.” plaintively protested Yetive. “If we only knew what he is charged with!”

“I’m afraid it’s something dreadfully serious,” admitted Beverly gloomily. “He doesn’t look like the sort of man who would engage in a petty undertaking. I’ll tell you his story, just as he told it to me,” and she repeated the meagre confessions of Baldos.

“I see no reason why we should hesitate,” said the princess. “By his own statement, he is not a desperate criminal. You did quite right in promising him protection, dear, and I shall sustain you. Do you want to play the princess to Baldos a little longer?”

“I should love it,” cried Beverly, her eyes sparkling.

“Then I shall write the order to Dangloss at once. Oh, dear, I have forgotten, I have no official seal here.”

“Couldn’t you seal it with your ring?” suggested Beverly. “Oh, I have it! Send for Baron Dangloss and have him witness your signature. He can’t get away from that, you see, and after we reach Edelweiss, you can fix up a regular edict, seal and all,” cried the resourceful American girl.

Ink and paper were sent for and the two conspirators lent their wisdom to the task of preparing an order for the salvation of Baldos, the fugitive. The order read:

To BARON JASTO DANGLOSS, COMMANDING THE CIVIC AND MILITARY POLICE OF GRAUSTARK:

“You are hereby informed that Baldos, the man who entered the city with Miss Calhoun, is not to be regarded as a prisoner now or hereafter. He is to be given capable medical and surgical attention until fully recovered, when he is to be allowed to go his way in peace unquestioned.

“Also, he is to be provided with suitable wearing apparel and made comfortable in every way.

“Also, the members of his party, now in the hills (whose names are unknown to me), are to be accorded every protection. Franz, the driver, is to have his freedom if he desires it.

“And from this edict there is no recourse until its abatement by royal decree.

“YETIVE.”

“There,” said the princess, affixing her signature “I think that will be sufficient.” Then she rang for a servant. “Send to Baron Dangloss and ask him to come here at once.”

Fifteen minutes later the chief of police stood in the presence of the eager young interpreters of justice.

“I want you to witness my signature, Baron Dangloss,” said the princess after the greetings.

“Gladly,” said the officer.

“Well, here is where I signed,” said Yetive, handing him the paper. “I don’t have to write my name over again, do I?”

“Not at all,” said the baron gallantly. And he boldly signed his name as a witness.

“They wouldn’t do that in the United States,” murmured Beverly, who knew something about red tape at Washington.

“It is a command to you, baron,” said Yetive, handing him the document with a rare smile. He read it through slowly. Then he bit his lip and coughed. “What is the matter, baron?” asked Yetive, still smiling.

“A transitory emotion, your highness, that is all,” said he; but his hand trembled as he folded the paper.

CHAPTER X

INSIDE THE CASTLE WALLS

Bright and early the next morning the party was ready for the last of the journey to Edelweiss. Less than twenty miles separated Ganlook from the capital, and the road was in excellent condition. Beverly Calhoun, tired and contented, had slept soundly until aroused by the princess herself. Their rooms adjoined each other, and when Yetive, shortly after daybreak, stole into the American girl’s chamber, Beverly was sleeping so sweetly that the intruder would have retreated had it not been for the boisterous shouts of stable-boys in the courtyard below the windows. She hurried to a window and looked out upon the gray-cloaked morning. Postillions and stable-boys were congregated near the gates, tormenting a ragged old man who stood with his back against one of the huge posts. In some curiosity, she called Beverly from her slumbers, urging the sleepy one to hasten to the window.

“Is this one of your friends from the wilderness?” she asked.

“It’s Franz!” cried Beverly, rubbing her pretty eyes. Then she became thoroughly awake. “What are they doing to him? Who are those ruffians?” she demanded indignantly.

“They are my servants, and—”

“Shame on them! The wretches! What has old Franz done that they should—Call to them! Tell ’em you’ll cut their heads off if they don’t stop. He’s a dear old fellow in spite of his rags, and he—”

The window-sash flew open and the tormentors in the court below were astonished by the sound of a woman’s voice, coming, as it were, from the clouds. A dozen pairs of eyes were turned upward; the commotion ended suddenly. In the window above stood two graceful, white-robed figures. The sun, still far below the ridge of mountains, had not yet robbed the morning of the gray, dewy shadows that belong to five o’clock.

“What are you doing to that poor old man?” cried Yetive, and it was the first time any of them had seen anger in the princess’s face. They slunk back in dismay. “Let him alone! You, Gartz, see that he has food and drink, and without delay. Report to me later on, sir, and explain, if you can, why you have conducted yourselves in so unbecoming a manner.” Then the window was closed and the princess found herself in the warm arms of her friend.

“I couldn’t understand a word you said, Yetive? but I knew you were giving it to them hot and heavy. Did you see how nicely old Franz bowed to you? Goodness, his head almost touched the ground.”

“He was bowing to you, Beverly. You forgot that you are the princess to him.”

“Isn’t that funny? I had quite forgotten it—the poor old goose.”

Later, when the coaches and escort were drawn up in front of the Rallowitz palace ready for the start, the princess called the chief postillion, Gartz, to the step of her coach.

“What was the meaning of the disturbance I witnessed this morning?” she demanded.

Gartz hung his head. “We thought the man was crazy, your highness. He had been telling us such monstrous lies,” he mumbled.

“Are you sure they were lies?”

“Oh, quite sure, your highness. They were laughable. He said, for one thing, that it was he who drove your highness’s coach into Ganlook last evening, when everybody knows that I had full charge of the coach and horses.”

“You are very much mistaken, Gartz,” she said, distinctly. He blinked his eyes.

“Your highness,” he gasped, “you surely remember—”

“Enough, sir. Franz drove the princess into Ganlook last night. He says so himself, does he not?”

“Yes, your highness,” murmured poor Gartz.

“What more did he say to you?”

“He said he had come from his master, who is in the hospital, to inquire after your health and to bear his thanks for the kindnesses you have secured for him. He says his master is faring well and is satisfied to remain where he is. Also, he said that his master was sending him back into the mountains to assure his friends that he is safe and to bear a certain message of cheer to them, sent forth by the princess. It was all so foolish and crazy, your highness, that we could but jibe and laugh at the poor creature.”

“It is you who have been foolish, sir. Send the old man to me.”

“He has gone, your highness,” in frightened tones.

“So much the better,” said the princess, dismissing him with a wave of the hand. Gartz went away in a daze, and for days he took every opportunity to look for other signs of mental disorder in the conduct of his mistress, at the same time indulging in speculation as to his own soundness of mind.

Ganlook’s population lined the chief thoroughfare, awaiting the departure of the princess, although the hour was early. Beverly peered forth curiously as the coach moved off. The quaint, half-oriental costumes of the townspeople, the odd little children, the bright colors, the perfect love and reverence that shone in the faces of the multitude impressed her deeply. She was never to forget that picturesque morning. Baron Dangloss rode beside the coach until it passed through the southern gates and into the countryside. A company of cavalrymen acted as escort. The bright red trousers and top-boots, with the deep-blue jackets, reminded Beverly more than ever of the operatic figures she had seen so often at home. There was a fierce, dark cast to the faces of these soldiers, however, that removed any suggestion of play. The girl was in ecstasies. Everything about her appealed to the romantic side of her nature; everything seemed so unreal and so like the storybook. The princess smiled lovingly upon the throngs that lined the street; there was no man among them who would not have laid down his life for the gracious ruler.

“Oh, I love your soldiers,” cried Beverly warmly.

“Poor fellows, who knows how soon they may be called upon to face death in the Dawsbergen hills?” said Yetive, a shadow crossing her face.

Dangloss was to remain in Ganlook for several days, on guard against manifestations by the Axphainians. A corps of spies and scouts was working with him, and couriers were ready to ride at a moment’s notice to the castle in Edelweiss. Before they parted, Beverly extracted a renewal of his promise to take good care of Baldos. She sent a message to the injured man, deploring the fact that she was compelled to leave Ganlook without seeing him as she had promised. It was her intention to have him come to Edelweiss as soon as he was in a condition to be removed. Captain Dangloss smiled mysteriously, but he had no comment to make. He had received his orders and was obeying them to the letter.

“I wonder if Grenfall has heard of my harum-scarum trip to St. Petersburg,” reflected Yetive, making herself comfortable in the coach after the gates and the multitudes were far behind.

“I’ll go you a box of chocolate creams that we meet him before we get to Edelweiss,” ventured Beverly.

“Agreed,” said the princess.

“Don’t say ‘agreed,’ dear. ‘Done’ is the word,” corrected the American girl airily.

Beverly won. Grenfall Lorry and a small company of horsemen rode up in furious haste long before the sun was in mid-sky. An attempt to depict the scene between him and his venturesome wife would be a hopeless task. The way in which his face cleared itself of distress and worry was a joy in itself. To use his own words, he breathed freely for the first time in hours. “The American” took the place of the officer who rode beside the coach, and the trio kept up an eager, interesting conversation during the next two hours.

It was a warm, sleepy day, but all signs of drowsiness disappeared with the advent of Lorry. He had reached Edelweiss late the night before, after a three days’ ride from the conference with Dawsbergen. At first he encountered trouble in trying to discover what had become of the princess. Those at the castle were aware of the fact that she had reached Ganlook safely and sought to put him off with subterfuges. He stormed to such a degree, however, that their object failed. The result was that he was off for Ganlook with the earliest light of day.

Regarding the conference with Prince Gabriel’s representatives, he had but little to say. The escaped murderer naturally refused to surrender and was to all appearances quite firmly established in power once more. Lorry’s only hope was that the reversal of feeling in Dawsbergen might work ruin for the prince. He was carrying affairs with a high hand, dealing vengeful blows to the friends of his half-brother and encouraging a lawlessness that sooner or later must prove his undoing. His representatives at the conference were an arrogant, law-defying set of men who laughed scornfully at every proposal made by the Graustarkians.

“We told them that if he were not surrendered to our authorities inside of sixty days we would declare war and go down and take him,” concluded “The American.”

“Two months,” cried Yetive. “I don’t understand.”

“There was method in that ultimatum. Axphain, of course, will set up a howl, but we can forestall any action the Princess Volga may undertake. Naturally, one might suspect that we should declare war at once, inasmuch as he must be taken sooner or later. But here is the point: before two months have elapsed the better element of Dawsbergen will be so disgusted with the new dose of Gabriel that it will do anything to avert a war on his account. We have led them to believe that Axphain will lend moral, if not physical, support to our cause. Give them two months in which to get over this tremendous hysteria, and they’ll find their senses. Gabriel isn’t worth it, you see, and down in their hearts they know it. They really loved young Dantan, who seems to be a devil of a good fellow. I’ll wager my head that in six weeks they’ll be wishing he were back on the throne again. And just to think of it, Yetive, dear, you were off there in the very heart of Axphain, risking everything,” he cried, wiping the moisture from his brow.

“It is just eleven days since I left Edelweiss, and I have had a lovely journey,” she said, with one of her rare smiles. He shook his head gravely, and she resolved in her heart never to give him another such cause for alarm.

“And in the meantime, Mr. Grenfall Lorry, you are blaming me and hating me and all that for being the real cause of your wife’s escapade,” said Beverly Calhoun plaintively. “I’m awfully sorry. But, you must remember one thing, sir; I did not put her up to this ridiculous trip. She did it of her own free will and accord. Besides, I am the one who met the lion and almost got devoured, not Yetive, if you please.”

“I’ll punish you by turning you over to old Count Marlanx, the commander of the army in Graustark,” said Lorry, laughingly. “He’s a terrible ogre, worse than any lion.”

“Heaven pity you, Beverly, if you fall into his clutches,” cried Yetive. “He has had five wives and survives to look for a sixth. You see how terrible it would be.”

“I’m not afraid of him,” boasted Beverly, but there came a time when she thought of those words with a shudder.

“By the way, Yetive, I have had word from Harry Anguish. He and the countess will leave Paris this week, if the baby’s willing, and will be in Edelweiss soon. You don’t know how it relieves me to know that Harry will be with us at this time.”

Yetive’s eyes answered his enthusiasm. Both had a warm and grateful memory of the loyal service which the young American had rendered his friend when they had first come to Graustark in quest of the princess; and both had a great regard for his wife, the Countess Dagmar, who, as Yetive’s lady in waiting, had been through all the perils of those exciting days with them.

As they drew near the gates of Edelweiss, a large body of horsemen rode forth to meet them. The afternoon was well on the way to night, and the air of the valley was cool and refreshing, despite the rays of the June sun.

“Edelweiss at last,” murmured Beverly, her face aglow. “The heart of Graustark. Do you know that I have been brushing up on my grammar? I have learned the meaning of the word ‘Graustark,’ and it seems so appropriate. Grau is gray, hoary, old; stark is strong. Old and strong—isn’t it, dear?”

“And here rides the oldest and strongest man in all Graustark—the Iron Count of Marlanx,” said Yetive, looking down the road. “See—the strange gray man in front there is our greatest general, our craftiest fighter, our most heartless warrior. Does he not look like the eagle or the hawk?”

A moment later the parties met, and the newcomers swung into line with the escort. Two men rode up to the carriage and saluted. One was Count Marlanx, the other Colonel Quinnox, of the Royal Guard. The count, lean and gray as a wolf, revealed rows of huge white teeth in his perfunctory smile of welcome, while young Quinnox’s face fairly beamed with honest joy. In the post that he held, he was but following in the footsteps of his forefathers. Since history began in Graustark, a Quinnox had been in charge of the castle guard.

The “Iron Count,” as he sometimes was called, was past his sixtieth year. For twenty years he had been in command of the army. One had but to look at his strong, sardonic face to know that he was a fearless leader, a savage fighter. His eyes were black, piercing and never quiet; his hair and close-cropped beard were almost snow-white; his voice was heavy and without a vestige of warmth. Since her babyhood Yetive had stood in awe of this grim old warrior. It was no uncommon thing for mothers to subdue disobedient children with the threat to give them over to the “Iron Count.” “Old Marlanx will get you if you’re not good,” was a household phrase in Edelweiss. He had been married five times and as many times had he been left a widower. If he were disconsolate in any instance, no one had been able to discover the fact. Enormously rich, as riches go in Graustark, he had found young women for his wives who thought only of his gold and his lands in the trade they made with Cupid. It was said that without exception they died happy. Death was a joy. The fortress overlooking the valley to the south was no more rugged and unyielding than the man who made his home within its walls. He lived there from choice and it was with his own money that he fitted up the commandant’s quarters in truly regal style. Power was more to him than wealth, though he enjoyed both.

Colonel Quinnox brought news from the castle. Yetive’s uncle and aunt, the Count and Countess Halfont, were eagerly expecting her return, and the city was preparing to manifest its joy in the most exuberant fashion. As they drew up to the gates the shouts of the people came to the ears of the travelers. Then the boom of cannon and the blare of bands broke upon the air, thrilling Beverly to the heart. She wondered how Yetive could be so calm and unmoved in the face of all this homage.

Past the great Hotel Regengetz and the Tower moved the gay procession, into the broad stretch of boulevard that led to the gates of the palace grounds. The gates stood wide open and inviting. Inside was Jacob Fraasch, the chief steward of the grounds, with his men drawn up in line; upon the walls the sentries came to parade rest; on the plaza the Royal band was playing as though by inspiration. Then the gates closed behind the coach and escort, and Beverly Calhoun was safe inside the castle walls. The “Iron Count” handed her from the carriage at the portals of the palace, and she stood as one in a dream.

CHAPTER XI

THE ROYAL COACH OF GRAUSTARK

The two weeks following Beverly Calhoun’s advent into the royal household were filled with joy and wonder for her. Daily she sent glowing letters to her father, mother and brothers in Washington, elaborating vastly upon the paradise into which she had fallen. To her highly emotional mind, the praises of Graustark had been but poorly sung. The huge old castle, relic of the feudal days, with its turrets and bastions and portcullises, Impressed her with a never-ending sense of wonder. Its great halls and stairways, its chapel, the throne-room, and the armor-closet; its underground passages and dungeons all united to fill her imaginative soul with the richest, rarest joys of finance. Simple American girl that she was, unused to the rigorous etiquette of royalty, she found embarrassment in the first confusion of events, but she was not long in recovering her poise.

Her apartments were near those of the Princess Yetive. In the private intercourse enjoyed by these women, all manner of restraint was abandoned by the visitor and every vestige of royalty slipped from the princess. Count Halfont and his adorable wife, the Countess Yvonne, both of whom had grown old in the court, found the girl and her strange servant a source of wonder and delight.

Some days after Beverly’s arrival there came to the castle Harry Anguish and his wife, the vivacious Dagmar. With them came the year-old cooing babe who was to overthrow the heart and head of every being in the household, from princess down. The tiny Dagmar became queen at once, and no one disputed her rule.

Anguish, the painter, became Anguish, the strategist and soldier. He planned with Lorry and the ministry, advancing some of the most hair-brained projects that ever encouraged discussion in a solemn conclave. The staid, cautious ministers looked upon him with wonder, but so plausible did he made his proposals appear that they were forced to consider them seriously. The old Count of Marlanx held him in great disdain, and did not hesitate to expose his contempt. This did not disturb Anguish in the least, for he was as optimistic as the sunshine. His plan for the recapture of Gabriel was ridiculously improbable, but it was afterwards seen that had it been attempted much distress and delay might actually have been avoided.

Yetive and Beverly, with Dagmar and the baby, made merry while the men were in council. Their mornings were spent in the shady park surrounding the castle, their afternoons in driving, riding and walking. Oftentimes the princess was barred from these simple pleasures by the exigencies of her position. She was obliged to grant audiences, observe certain customs of state, attend to the charities that came directly under her supervision, and confer with the nobles on affairs of weight and importance. Beverly delighted in the throne-room and the underground passages; they signified more to her than all the rest. She was shown the room in which Lorry had foiled the Viennese who once tried to abduct Yetive. The dungeon where Gabriel spent his first days of confinement, the Tower in which Lorry had been held a prisoner, and the monastery in the clouds were all places of unusual interest to her.

Soon the people of the city began to recognize the fair American girl who was a guest in the castle, and a certain amount of homage was paid to her. When she rode or drove in the streets, with her attendant soldiers, the people bowed as deeply and as respectfully as they did to the princess herself, and Beverly was just as grand and gracious as if she had been born with a sceptre in her hand.

The soft moonlight nights charmed her with a sense of rapture never known before. With the castle brilliantly illuminated, the halls and drawing-rooms filled with gay courtiers, the harpists at their posts, the military band playing in the parade ground, the balconies and porches offering their most inviting allurements, it is no wonder that Beverly was entranced. War had no terrors for her. If she thought of it at all, it was with the fear that it might disturb the dream into which she had fallen. True, there was little or nothing to distress the most timid in these first days. The controversy between the principalities was at a standstill, although there was not an hour in which preparations for the worst were neglected. To Beverly Calhoun, it meant little when sentiment was laid aside; to Yetive and her people this probable war with Dawsbergen meant everything.

Dangloss, going back and forth between Edelweiss and the frontier north of Ganlook, where the best of the police and secret service watched with the sleepless eyes of the lynx, brought unsettling news to the ministry. Axphain troops were engaged in the annual maneuvers just across the border in their own territory. Usually these were held in the plains near the capital, and there was a sinister significance in the fact that this year they were being carried on in the rough southern extremity of the principality, within a day’s march of the Graustark line, fully two months earlier than usual. The doughty baron reported that foot, horse and artillery were engaged in the drills, and that fully 8,000 men were massed in the south of Axphain. The fortifications of Ganlook, Labbot and other towns in northern Graustark were strengthened with almost the same care as those in the south, where conflict with Dawsbergen might first be expected. General Marlanx and his staff rested neither day nor night. The army of Graustark was ready. Underneath the castle’s gay exterior there smouldered the fire of battle, the tremor of defiance.

Late one afternoon Beverly Calhoun and Mrs. Anguish drove up in state to the Tower, wherein sat Dangloss and his watchdogs. The scowl left his face as far as nature would permit and he welcomed the ladies warmly.

“I came to ask about my friend, the goat-hunter,” said Beverly, her cheeks a trifle rosier than usual.

“He is far from an amiable person, your highness,” said the officer. When discussing Baldos he never failed to address Beverly as “your highness.” “The fever is gone and he is able to walk without much pain, but he is as restless as a witch. Following instructions, I have not questioned him concerning his plans, but I fancy he is eager to return to the hills.”

“What did he say when you gave him my message?” asked Beverly.

“Which one, your highness?” asked he, with tantalizing density.

“Why, the suggestion that he should come to Edelweiss for better treatment,” retorted Beverly severely.

“He said he was extremely grateful for your kind offices, but he did not deem it advisable to come to this city. He requested me to thank you in his behalf and to tell you that he will never forget what you have done for him.”

“And he refuses to come to Edelweiss?” irritably demanded Beverly.

“Yes, your highness. You see, he still regards himself with disfavor, being a fugitive. It is hardly fair to blame him for respecting the security of the hills.”

“I hoped that I might induce him to give up his old life and engage in something perfectly honest, although, mind you, Baron Dangloss, I do not question his integrity in the least. He should have a chance to prove himself worthy, that’s all. This morning I petitioned Count Marlanx to give him a place in the Castle Guard.”

“My dear Miss Calhoun, the princess has—” began the captain.

“Her highness has sanctioned the request,” interrupted she.

“And the count has promised to discover a vacancy,” said Dagmar, with a smile that the baron understood perfectly well.

“This is the first time on record that old Marlanx has ever done anything to oblige a soul save himself. It is wonderful, Miss Calhoun. What spell do you Americans cast over rock and metal that they become as sand in your fingers?” said the baron, admiration and wonder in his eyes.

“You dear old flatterer,” cried Beverly, so warmly that he caught his breath.

“I believe that you can conquer even that stubborn fellow in Ganlook,” he said, fumbling with his glasses. “He is the most obstinate being I know, and yet in ten minutes you could bring him to terms, I am sure. He could not resist you.”

“He still thinks I am the princess?”

“He does, and swears by you.”

“Then, my mind is made up. I’ll go to Ganlook and bring him back with me, willy-nilly. He is too good a man to be lost in the hills. Good-bye, Baron Dangloss. Thank you ever and ever so much. Oh, yes; will you write an order delivering him over to me? The hospital people may be—er—disobliging, you know.”

“It shall be in your highness’s hands this evening.”

The next morning, with Colonel Quinnox and a small escort, Beverly Calhoun set off in one of the royal coaches for Ganlook, accompanied by faithful Aunt Fanny. She carried the order from Baron Dangloss and a letter from Yetive to the Countess Rallowitz, insuring hospitality over night in the northern town. Lorry and the royal household entered merrily into her project, and she went away with the godspeeds of all. The Iron Count himself rode beside her coach to the city gates, an unheard-of condescension.

“Now, you’ll be sure to find a nice place for him in the castle guard, won’t you, Count Marlanx?” she said at the parting, her hopes as fresh as the daisy in the dew, her confidence supreme. The count promised faithfully, even eagerly. Colonel Quinnox, trained as he was in the diplomacy of silence, could scarcely conceal his astonishment at the conquest of the hard old warrior.

Although the afternoon was well spent before Beverly reached Ganlook, she was resolved to visit the obdurate patient at once, relying upon her resourcefulness to secure his promise to start with her for Edelweiss on the following morning. The coach delivered her at the hospital door in grand style. When the visitor was ushered into the snug little room of the governor’s office, her heart was throbbing and her composure was undergoing a most unusual strain. It annoyed her to discover that the approaching contact with an humble goat-hunter was giving her such unmistakable symptoms of perturbation.

From an upstairs window in the hospital the convalescent but unhappy patient witnessed her approach and arrival. His sore, lonely heart gave a bound of joy, for the days had seemed long since her departure.

He had had time to think during these days, too. Turning over in his mind all of the details in connection with their meeting and their subsequent intercourse, it began to dawn upon him that she might not be what she assumed to be. Doubts assailed him, suspicions grew into amazing forms of certainty. There were times when he laughed sardonically at himself for being taken in by this strange but charming young woman, but through it all his heart and mind were being drawn more and more fervently toward her. More than once he called himself a fool and more than once he dreamed foolish dreams of her—princess or not. Of one thing he was sure: he had come to love the adventure for the sake of what it promised and there was no bitterness beneath his suspicions.

Arrayed in clean linen and presentable clothes, pale from indoor confinement and fever, but once more the straight and strong cavalier of the hills, he hastened into her presence when the summons came for him to descend. He dropped to his knee and kissed her hand, determined to play the game, notwithstanding his doubts. As he arose she glanced for a flitting second into his dark eyes, and her own long lashes drooped.

“Your highness!” he said gratefully.

“How well and strong you look,” she said hurriedly. “Some of the tan is gone, but you look as though you had never been ill. Are you quite recovered?”

“They say I am as good as new,” he smilingly answered. “A trifle weak and uncertain in my lower extremities, but a few days of exercise in the mountains will overcome all that. Is all well with you and Graustark? They will give me no news here, by whose order I do not know.”

“Turn about is fair play, sir. It is a well-established fact that you will give them no news. Yes, all is well with me and mine. Were you beginning to think that I had deserted you? It has been two weeks, hasn’t it?”

“Ah, your highness, I realize that you have had much more important things to do than to think of poor Baldos, I am exceedingly grateful for this sign of interest in my welfare. Your visit is the brightest experience of my life.”

“Be seated!” she cried suddenly. “You are too ill to stand.”

“Were I dying I should refuse to be seated while your highness stands,” said he simply. His shoulders seemed to square themselves involuntarily and his left hand twitched as though accustomed to the habit of touching a sword-hilt. Beverly sat down instantly; with his usual easy grace, he took a chair near by. They were alone in the ante-chamber.

“Even though you were on your last legs?” she murmured, and then wondered how she could have uttered anything so inane. Somehow, she was beginning to fear that he was not the ordinary person she had judged him to be. “You are to be discharged from the hospital tomorrow,” she added hastily.

“Tomorrow?” he cried, his eyes lighting with joy. “I may go then?”

“I have decided to take you to Edelweiss with me,” she said, very much as if that were all there was to it. He stared at her for a full minute as though doubting his ears.

“No!” he said, at last, his jaws settling, his eyes glistening. It was a terrible setback for Beverly’s confidence. “Your highness forgets that I have your promise of absolute freedom.”

“But you are to be free,” she protested. “You have nothing to fear. It is not compulsory, you know. You don’t have to go unless you really want to. But my heart is set on having you in—in the castle guard.” His bitter, mocking laugh surprised and wounded her, which he was quick to see, for his contrition was immediate.

“Pardon, your highness. I am a rude, ungrateful wretch, and I deserve punishment instead of reward. The proposal was so astounding that I forgot myself completely,” he said.

Whereupon, catching him in this contrite mood, she began a determined assault against his resolution. For an hour she devoted her whole heart and soul to the task of overcoming his prejudices, fears and objections, meeting his protestations firmly and logically, unconscious of the fact that her very enthusiasm was betraying her to him. The first signs of weakening inspired her afresh and at last she was riding over him rough-shod, a happy victor. She made promises that Yetive herself could not have made; she offered inducements that never could be carried out, although in her zeal she did not know it to be so; she painted such pictures of ease, comfort and pleasure that he wondered why royalty did not exchange places with its servants. In the end, overcome by the spirit of adventure and a desire to be near her, he agreed to enter the service for six months, at the expiration of which time he was to be released from all obligations if he so desired.

“But my friends in the pass, your highness,” he said in surrendering, “what is to become of them? They are waiting for me out there in the wilderness. I am not base enough to desert them.”

“Can’t you get word to them?” she asked eagerly. “Let them come into the city, too. We will provide for the poor fellows, believe me.”

“That, at least, is impossible, your highness,” he said, shaking his head sadly. “You will have to slay them before you can bring them within the city gates. My only hope is that Franz may be here tonight. He has permission to enter, and I am expecting him today or tomorrow.”

“You can send word to them that you are sound and safe and you can tell them that Graustark soldiers shall be instructed to pay no attention to them whatever. They shall not be disturbed.” He laughed outright at her enthusiasm. Many times during her eager conversation with Baldos she had almost betrayed the fact that she was not the princess. Some of her expressions were distinctly unregal and some of her slips were hopeless, as she viewed them in retrospect.

“What am I? Only the humble goat-hunter, hunted to death and eager for a short respite. Do with me as you like, your highness. You shall be my princess and sovereign for six months, at least,” he said, sighing. “Perhaps it is for the best.”

“You are the strangest man I’ve ever seen,” she remarked, puzzled beyond expression.

That night Franz appeared at the hospital and was left alone with Baldos for an hour or more. What passed between them, no outsider knew, though there tears in the eyes of both at the parting. But Franz did not start for the pass that night, as they had expected. Strange news had come to the ears of the faithful old follower and he hung about Ganlook until morning came, eager to catch the ear of his leader before it was too late.

The coach was drawn up in front of the hospital at eight o’clock, Beverly triumphant in command. Baldos came down the steps slowly, carefully, favoring the newly healed ligaments in his legs. She smiled cheerily at him and he swung his rakish hat low. There was no sign of the black patch. Suddenly he started and peered intently into the little knot of people near the coach. A look of anxiety crossed his face. From the crowd advanced a grizzled old beggar who boldly extended his hand. Baldos grasped the proffered hand and then stepped into the coach. No one saw the bit of white paper that passed from Franz’s palm into the possession of Baldos. Then the coach was off for Edelweiss, the people of Ganlook enjoying the unusual spectacle of a mysterious and apparently undistinguished stranger sitting in luxurious ease beside a fair lady in the royal coach of Graustark.

CHAPTER XII

IN SERVICE

It was a drowsy day, and, besides, Baldos was not in a communicative frame of mind. Beverly put forth her best efforts during the forenoon, but after the basket luncheon had been disposed of in the shade at the roadside, she was content to give up the struggle and surrender to the soothing importunities of the coach as it bowled along. She dozed peacefully, conscious to the last that he was a most ungracious creature and more worthy of resentment than of benefaction. Baldos was not intentionally disagreeable; he was morose and unhappy because he could not help it. Was he not leaving his friends to wander alone in the wilderness while he drifted weakly into the comforts and pleasures of an enviable service? His heart was not in full sympathy with the present turn of affairs, and he could not deny that a selfish motive was responsible for his action. He had the all too human eagerness to serve beauty; the blood and fire of youth were strong in this wayward nobleman of the hills.

Lying back in the seat, he pensively studied the face of the sleeping girl whose dark-brown head was pillowed against the corner cushions of the coach. Her hat had been removed for the sake of comfort. The dark lashes fell like a soft curtain over her eyes, obscuring the merry gray that had overcome his apprehensions. Her breathing was deep and regular and peaceful. One little gloved hand rested carelessly in her lap, the other upon her breast near the delicate throat. The heart of Baldos was troubled. The picture he looked upon was entrancing, uplifting; he rose from the lowly state in which she had found him to the position of admirer in secret to a princess, real or assumed. He found himself again wondering if she were really Yetive, and with that fear in his heart he was envying Grenfall Lorry, the lord and master of this exquisite creature, envying with all the helplessness of one whose hope is blasted at birth.

The note which had been surreptitiously passed to him in Ganlook lay crumpled and forgotten inside his coat pocket, where he had dropped it the moment it had come into his possession, supposing that the message contained information which had been forgotten by Franz, and was by no means of a nature to demand immediate attention. Had he read it at once his suspicions would have been confirmed, and it is barely possible that he would have refused to enter the city.

Late in the afternoon the walls of Edelweiss were sighted. For the first time he looked upon the distant housetops of the principal city of Graustark. Up in the clouds, on the summit of the mountain peak overlooking the city, stood the famed monastery of Saint Valentine. Stretching up the gradual incline were the homes of citizens, accessible only by footpaths and donkey roads. Beverly was awake and impatient to reach the journey’s end. He had proved a most disappointing companion, polite, but with a baffling indifference that irritated her considerably. There was a set expression of defiance in his strong, clean-cut face, the look of a soldier advancing to meet a powerful foe.

“I do hope he’ll not always act this way,” she was complaining in her thoughts. “He was so charmingly impudent out in the hills, so deliciously human. Now he is like a clam. Yetive will think I am such a fool if he doesn’t live up to the reputation I’ve given him!”

“Here are the gates,” he said, half to himself. “What is there in store for me beyond those walls?”

“Oh, I wish you wouldn’t be so dismal,” she cried in despair. “It seems just like a funeral.”

“A thousand apologies, your highness,” he murmured, with a sudden lightness of speech and manner. “Henceforth I shall be a most amiable jester, to please you.”

Beverly and the faithful Aunt Fanny were driven to the castle, where the former bade farewell to her new knight until the following morning, when he was to appear before her for personal instructions. Colonel Quinnox escorted him to the barracks of the guards where he was to share a room with young Haddan, a corporal in the service.

“The wild, untamed gentleman from the hills came without a word, I see,” said Lorry, who had watched the approach. He and Yetive stood in the window overlooking the grounds from the princess’s boudoir, Beverly had just entered and thrown herself upon a divan.

“Yes, he’s here,” she said shortly.

“How long do you, with all your cleverness, expect to hoodwink him into the belief that you are the princess?” asked Yetive, amused but anxious.

“He’s a great fool for being hoodwinked at all,” said Beverly, very much at odds with her protege. “In an hour from now he will know the truth and will be howling like a madman for his freedom.”

“Not so soon as that, Beverly,” said Lorry consolingly. “The guards and officers have their instructions to keep him in the dark as long as possible.”

“Well, I’m tired and mad and hungry and everything else that isn’t compatible. Let’s talk about the war,” said Beverly, the sunshine in her face momentarily eclipsed by the dark cloud of disappointment.

Baldos was notified that duty would be assigned to him in the morning. He went through the formalities which bound him to the service for six months, listening indifferently to the words that foretold the fate of a traitor. It was not until his hew uniform and equipment came into his possession that he remembered the note resting in his pocket. He drew it out and began to read it with the slight interest of one who has anticipated the effect. But not for long was he to remain apathetic. The first few lines brought a look of understanding to his eyes; then he laughed the easy laugh of one who has cast care and confidence to the winds. This is what he read:

“She is not the princess. We have been duped. Last night I learned the truth. She is Miss Calhoun, an American, going to be a guest at the castle. Refuse to go with her into Edelweiss. It may be a trap and may mean death. Question her boldly before committing yourself.”

There came the natural impulse to make a dash for the outside world, fighting his way through if necessary. Looking back over the ground, he wondered how he could have been deceived at all by the unconventional American. In the clear light of retrospection he now saw how impossible it was for her to have been the princess. Every act, every word, every look should have told him the truth. Every flaw in her masquerading now presented itself to him and he was compelled to laugh at his own simplicity. Caution, after all, was the largest component part of his makeup; the craftiness of the hunted was deeply rooted in his being. He saw a very serious side to the adventure. Stretching himself upon the cot in the corner of the room he gave himself over to plotting, planning, thinking.

In the midst of his thoughts a sudden light burst in upon him. His eyes gleamed with a new fire, his heart leaped with new animation, his blood ran warm again. Leaping to his feet he ran to the window to re-read the note from old Franz. Then he settled back and laughed with a fervor that cleared the brain of a thousand vague misgivings.

“She is Miss Calhoun, an American going to be a guest at the castle,”—not the princess, but Miss Calhoun. Once more the memory of the clear gray eyes leaped into life; again he saw her asleep in the coach on the road from Ganlook; again he recalled the fervent throbs his guilty heart had felt as he looked upon this fair creature, at one time the supposed treasure of another man. Now she was Miss Calhoun, and her gray eyes, her entrancing smile, her wondrous vivacity were not for one man alone. It was marvelous what a change this sudden realization wrought in the view ahead of him. The whole situation seemed to be transformed into something more desirable than ever before. His face cleared, his spirits leaped higher and higher with the buoyancy of fresh relief, his confidence in himself crept back into existence. And all because the fair deceiver, the slim girl with the brave gray eyes who had drawn him into a net, was not a princess!

Something told him that she had not drawn him into his present position with any desire to injure or with the slightest sense of malice. To her it had been a merry jest, a pleasant comedy. Underneath all he saw the goodness of her motive in taking him from the old life, and putting him into his present position of trust. He had helped her, and she was ready to help him to the limit of her power. His position in Edelweiss was clearly enough defined. The more he thought of it, the more justifiable it seemed as viewed from her point of observation. How long she hoped to keep him in the dark he could not tell. The outcome would be entertaining; her efforts to deceive. If she kept them up, would be amusing. Altogether, he was ready, with the leisure and joy of youth, to await developments and to enjoy the comedy from a point of view which she could not at once suspect.

His subtle efforts to draw Haddan into a discussion of the princess and her household resulted unsatisfactorily. The young guard was annoyingly unresponsive. He had his secret instructions and could not be inveigled into betraying himself. Baldos went to sleep that night with his mind confused by doubts. His talk with Haddan had left him quite undecided as to the value of old Franz’s warning. Either Franz was mistaken, or Haddan was a most skilful dissembler. It struck him as utterly beyond the pale of reason that the entire castle guard should have been enlisted in the scheme to deceive him. When sleep came, he was contenting himself with the thought that morning doubtless would give him clearer insight to the situation.

Both he and Beverly Calhoun were ignorant of the true conditions that attached themselves to the new recruit. Baron Dangloss alone knew that Haddan was a trusted agent of the secret service, with instructions to shadow the newcomer day and night. That there was a mystery surrounding the character of Baldos, the goat-hunter, Dangloss did not question for an instant: and in spite of the instructions received at the outset, he was using all his skill to unravel it.

Baldos was not summoned to the castle until noon. His serene indifference to the outcome of the visit was calculated to deceive the friendly but watchful Haddan. Dressed carefully in the close-fitting uniform of the royal guard, taller than most of his fellows, handsomer by far than any, he was the most noticeable figure in and about the barracks. Haddan coached him in the way he was to approach the princess, Baldos listening with exaggerated intentness and with deep regard for detail.

Beverly was in the small audience-room off the main reception hall when he was ushered into her presence. The servants and ladies-in-waiting disappeared at a signal from her. She arose to greet him and he knelt to kiss her hand. For a moment her tongue was bound. The keen eyes of the new guard had looked into hers with a directness that seemed to penetrate her brain. That this scene was to be one of the most interesting in the little comedy was proved by the fact that two eager young women were hidden behind a heavy curtain in a corner of the room. The Princess Yetive and the Countess Dagmar were there to enjoy Beverly’s first hour of authority, and she was aware of their presence.

“Have they told you that you are to act as my especial guard and escort?” she asked, with a queer flutter in her voice. Somehow this tall fellow with the broad shoulders was not the same as the ragged goat-hunter she had known at first.

“No, your highness,” said he, easily. “I have come for instructions. It pleases me to know that I am to have a place of honor and trust such as this.”

“General Marlanx has told me that a vacancy exists, and I have selected you to fill it. The compensation will be attended to by the proper persons, and your duties will be explained to you by one of the officers. This afternoon, I believe, you are to accompany me on my visit to the fortress, which I am to inspect.”

“Very well, your highness,” he respectfully said. He was thinking of Miss Calhoun, an American girl, although he called her “your highness.” “May I be permitted to ask for instructions that can come only from your highness?”

“Certainly,” she replied. His manner was more deferential than she had ever known it to be, but he threw a bomb into her fine composure with his next remark. He addressed her in the Graustark language:

“Is it your desire that I shall continue to address you in English?”

Beverly’s face turned a bit red and her eyes wavered. By a wonderful effort she retained her self-control, stammering ever so faintly when she said in English:

“I wish you would speak English,” unwittingly giving answer to his question. “I shall insist upon that. Your English is too good to be spoiled.”

Then he made a bold test, his first having failed. He spoke once more in the native tongue, this time softly and earnestly.

“As you wish, your highness, but I think it is a most ridiculous practice,” he said, and his heart lost none of its courage. Beverly looked at him almost pathetically. She knew that behind the curtain two young women were enjoying her discomfiture. Something told her that they were stifling their mirth with dainty lace-bordered handkerchiefs.

“That will do, sir,” she managed to say firmly. “It’s very nice of you, but after this pay your homage in English,” she went on, taking a long chance on his remark. It must have been complimentary, she reasoned. As for Baldos, the faintest sign of a smile touched his lips and his eyes were twinkling as he bent his head quickly. Franz was right; she did not know a word of the Graustark language.

“I have entered the service for six months, your highness,” he said in English. “You have honored me, and I give my heart as well as my arm to your cause.”

Beverly, breathing easier, was properly impressed by this promise of fealty. She was looking with pride upon the figure of her stalwart protege.

“I hope you have destroyed that horrid black patch,” she said.

“It has gone to keep company with other devoted but deserted friends,” he said, a tinge of bitterness in his voice.

“The uniform is vastly becoming,” she went on, realizing helplessly that she was providing intense amusement for the unseen auditors.

“It shames the rags in which you found me.”

“I shall never forget them, Baldos,” she said, with a strange earnestness in her voice.

“May I presume to inquire after the health of your good Aunt Fanny and—although I did not see him—your Uncle Sam?” he asked, with a face as straight and sincere as that of a judge. Beverly swallowed suddenly and checked a laugh with some difficulty.

“Aunt Fanny is never ill. Some day I shall tell you more of Uncle Sam. It will interest you.”

“Another question, if it please your highness. Do you expect to return to America soon?”

This was the unexpected, but she met it with admirable composure.

“It depends upon the time when Prince Dantan resumes the throne in Dawsbergen,” she said.

“And that day may never come,” said he, such mocking regret in his voice that she looked upon him with newer interest.

“Why, I really believe you want to go to America,” she cried.

The eyes of Baldos had been furtively drawn to the curtain more than once during the last few minutes. An occasional movement of the long oriental hangings attracted his attention. It dawned upon him that the little play was being overheard, whether by spies or conspirators he knew not. Resentment sprang up in his breast and gave birth to a daring that was as spectacular as it was confounding. With long, noiseless strides, he reached the door before Beverly could interpose. She half started from her chair, her eyes wide with dismay, her lips parted, but his hand was already clutching the curtain. He drew it aside relentlessly.

Two startled women stood exposed to view, smiles dying on their amazed faces. Their backs were against the closed door and two hands clutching handkerchiefs dropped from a most significant altitude. One of them flashed an imperious glance at the bold discoverer, and he knew he was looking upon the real princess of Graustark. He did not lose his composure. Without a tremor he turned to the American girl.

“Your highness,” he said clearly, coolly, “I fear we have spies and eavesdroppers here. Is your court made up of—I should say, they are doubtless a pair of curious ladies-in-waiting. Shall I begin my service, your highness, by escorting them to yonder door?”

CHAPTER XIII

THE THREE PRINCES

Beverly gasped. The countess stared blankly at the new guard. Yetive flushed deeply, bit her lip in hopeless chagrin, and dropped her eyes. A pretty turn, indeed, the play had taken! Not a word was uttered for a full half-minute; nor did the guilty witnesses venture forth from their retreat. Baldos stood tall and impassive, holding the curtain aside. At last the shadow of a smile crept into the face of the princess, but her tones were full of deep humility when she spoke.

“We crave permission to retire, your highness,” she said, and there was virtuous appeal in her eyes. “I pray forgiveness for this indiscretion and implore you to be lenient with two miserable creatures who love you so well that they forget their dignity.”

“I am amazed and shocked,” was all that Beverly could say. “You may go, but return to me within an hour. I will then hear what you have to say.”

Slowly, even humbly, the ruler of Graustark and her cousin passed beneath the upraised arm of the new guard. He opened a door on the opposite side of the room, and they went out, to all appearance thoroughly crestfallen. The steady features of the guard did not relax for the fraction of a second, but his heart was thumping disgracefully.

“Come here, Baldos,” commanded Beverly, a bit pale, but recovering her wits with admirable promptness. “This is a matter which I shall dispose of privately. It is to go no further, you are to understand.”

“Yes, your highness.”

“You may go now. Colonel Quinnox will explain everything,” she said hurriedly. She was eager to be rid of him. As he turned away she observed a faint but peculiar smile at the corner of his mouth.

“Come here, sir!” she exclaimed hotly. He paused, his face as sombre as an owl’s. “What do you mean by laughing like that?” she demanded. He caught the fierce note in her voice, but gave it the proper interpretation.

“Laughing, your highness?” he said in deep surprise. “You must be mistaken. I am sure that I could not have laughed in the presence of a princess.”

“It must have been a—a shadow, then,” she retracted, somewhat startled by his rejoinder. “Very well, then; you are dismissed.”

As he was about to open the door through which he had entered the room, it swung wide and Count Marlanx strode in. Baldos paused irresolutely, and then proceeded on his way without paying the slightest attention to the commander of the army. Marlanx came to an amazed stop and his face flamed with resentment.

“Halt, sir!” he exclaimed harshly. “Don’t you know enough to salute me, sir?”

Baldos turned instantly, his figure straightening like a flash. His eyes met those of the Iron Count and did not waver, although his face went white with passion.

“And who are you, sir?” he asked in cold, steely tones. The count almost reeled.

“Your superior officer—that should be enough for you!” he half hissed with deadly levelness.

“Oh, then I see no reason why I should not salute you, sir,” said Baldos, with one of his rare smiles. He saluted his superior officer a shade too elaborately and turned away. Marlanx’s eyes glistened.

“Stop! Have I said you could go, sir? I have a bit of advice to—”

“My command to go comes from your superior, sir,” said Baldos, with irritating blandness.

“Be patient, general,” cried Beverly in deep distress. “He does not know any better. I will stand sponsor for him.” And Baldos went away with a light step, his blood singing, his devil-may-care heart satisfied. The look in her eyes was very sustaining. As he left the castle he said aloud to himself with an easy disregard of the consequences:

“Well, it seems that I am to be associated with the devil as well as with angels. Heavens! June is a glorious month.”

“Now, you promised you’d be nice to him, General Marlanx,” cried Beverly the instant Baldos was out of the room. “He’s new at this sort of thing, you know, and besides, you didn’t address him very politely for an utter stranger.”

“The insolent dog,” snarled Marlanx, his self-control returning slowly. “He shall be taught well and thoroughly, never fear, Miss Calhoun. There is a way to train such recruits as he, and they never forget what they have learned.”

“Oh, please don’t be harsh with him,” she pleaded. The smile of the Iron Count was not at all reassuring. “I know he will be sorry for what he has done, and you—”

“I am quite sure he will be sorry,” said he, with a most agreeable bow in submission to her appeal.

“Do you want to see Mr. Lorry?” she asked quickly. “I will send for him, general.” She was at the door, impatient to be with the banished culprits.

“My business with Mr. Lorry can wait,” he began, with a smile meant to be inviting, but which did not impress her at all pleasantly.

“Well, anyway, I’ll tell him you’re here,” she said, her hand on the door-knob. “Will you wait here? Good-bye!” And then she was racing off through the long halls and up broad stair-cases toward the boudoir of the princess. There is no telling how long the ruffled count remained in the ante-room, for the excited Beverly forgot to tell Lorry that he was there.

There were half a dozen people in the room when Beverly entered eagerly. She was panting with excitement. Of all the rooms in the grim old castle, the boudoir of the princess was the most famously attractive. It was really her home, the exquisite abiding place of an exquisite creature. To lounge on her divans, to loll in the chairs, to glide through her priceless rugs was the acme of indolent pleasure. Few were they who enjoyed the privileges of “Little Heaven,” as Harry Anguish had christened it on one memorable night, long before the princess was Mrs. Grenfall Lorry.

“Now, how do you feel?” cried the flushed American girl, pausing in the door to point an impressive finger at the princess, who was lying back in a huge chair, the picture of distress and annoyance.

“I shall never be able to look that man in the face again,” came dolefully from Yetive’s humbled lips. Dagmar was all smiles and in the fittest of humors. She was the kind of a culprit who loves the punishment because of the crime.

“Wasn’t it ridiculous, and wasn’t it just too lovely?” she cried.

“It was extremely theatrical,” agreed Beverly, seating herself on the arm of Yetive’s chair and throwing a warm arm around her neck. “Have you all heard about it?” she demanded, naively, turning to the others, who unquestionably had had a jumbled account of the performance.

“You got just what you deserved,” said Lorry, who was immensely amused.

“I wonder what your august vagabond thinks of his princess and her ladies-in-hiding?” mused Harry Anguish. The Count and Countess Halfont were smiling in spite of the assault upon the dignity of the court.

“I’d give anything to know what he really thinks,” said the real princess. “Oh, Beverly, wasn’t it awful? And how he marched us out of that room!”

“I thought it was great,” said Beverly, her eyes glowing. “Wasn’t it splendid? And isn’t he good looking?”

“He is good looking, I imagine, but I am no judge, dear. It was utterly impossible for me to look at his face,” lamented the princess.

“What are you going to do with us?” asked Dagmar penitently.

“You are to spend the remainder of your life in a dungeon with Baldos as guard,” decided Miss Calhoun.

“Beverly, dear, that man is no ordinary person,” said the princess, quite positively.

“Of course he isn’t. He’s a tall, dark mystery.”

“I observed him as he crossed the terrace this morning,” said Lorry. “He’s a striking sort of chap, and I’ll bet my head he’s not what he claims to be.”

“He claims to be a fugitive, you must remember,” said Beverly, in his defense.

“I mean that he is no common malefactor or whatever it may be. Who and what do you suppose he is? I confess that I’m interested in the fellow and he looks as though one might like him without half trying. Why haven’t you dug up his past history, Beverly? You are so keen about him.”

“He positively refuses to let me dig,” explained Beverly. “I tried, you know, but he—he—well, he squelched me.”

“Well, after all is said and done, he caught us peeping today, and I am filled with shame,” said the princess. “It doesn’t matter who he is, he must certainly have a most unflattering opinion as to what we are.”

“And he is sure to know us sooner or later,” said the young countess, momentarily serious.

“Oh, if it ever comes to that I shall be in a splendid position to explain it all to him,” said Beverly. “Don’t you see, I’ll have to do a lot of explaining myself?”

“Baron Dangloss!” announced the guard of the upper hall, throwing open the door for the doughty little chief of police.

“Your highness sent for me?” asked he, advancing after the formal salutation. The princess exhibited genuine amazement.

“I did, Baron Dangloss, but you must have come with the wings of an eagle. It is really not more than three minutes since I gave the order to Colonel Quinnox.” The baron smiled mysteriously, but volunteered no solution. The truth is, he was entering the castle doors as the messenger left them, but he was much too fond of effect to spoil a good situation by explanations. It was a long two miles to his office in the Tower. “Something has just happened that impels me to ask a few questions concerning Baldos, the new guard.”

“May I first ask what has happened?” Dangloss was at a loss for the meaning of the general smile that went around.

“It is quite personal and of no consequence. What do you know of him? My curiosity is aroused. Now, be quiet, Beverly; you are as eager to know as the rest of us.”

“Well, your highness, I may as well confess that the man is a puzzle to me. He comes here a vagabond, but he certainly does not act like one. He admits that he is being hunted, but takes no one into his confidence. For that, he cannot be blamed.”

“Have you any reason to suspect who he is?” asked Lorry.

“My instructions were to refrain from questioning him,” complained Dangloss, with a pathetic look at the original plotters. “Still, I have made investigations along other lines.”

“And who is he?” cried Beverly, eagerly.

“I don’t know,” was the disappointing answer. “We are confronted by a queer set of circumstances. Doubtless you all know that young Prince Dantan is flying from the wrath of his half-brother, our lamented friend Gabriel. He is supposed to be in our hills with a half-starved body of followers. It seems impossible that he could have reached our northern boundaries without our outposts catching a glimpse of him at some time. The trouble is that his face is unknown to most of us, I among the others. I have been going on the presumption that Baldos is in reality Prince Dantan. But last night the belief received a severe shock.”

“Yes?” came from several eager lips.

“My men who are watching the Dawsbergen frontier came in last night and reported that Dantan had been seen by mountaineers no later than Sunday, three days ago. These mountaineers were in sympathy with him, and refused to tell whither he went. We only know that he was in the southern part of Graustark three days ago. Our new guard speaks many languages, but he has never been heard to use that of Dawsbergen. That fact in itself is not surprising, for, of all things, he would avoid his mother tongue. Dantan is part English by birth and wholly so by cultivation. In that he evidently finds a mate in this Baldos.”

“Then, he really isn’t Prince Dantan?” cried Beverly, as though a cherished ideal had been shattered.

“Not if we are to believe the tales from the south. Here is another complication, however. There is, as you know, Count Halfont, and perhaps all of you, for that matter, a pretender to the throne of Axphain, the fugitive Prince Frederic. He is described as young, good looking, a scholar and the next thing to a pauper.”

“Baldos a mere pretender,” cried Beverly in real distress. “Never!”

“At any rate, he is not what he pretends to be,” said the baron, with a wise smile.

“Then, you think he may be Prince Frederic?” asked Lorry, deeply interested.

“I am inclined to think so, although another complication has arisen. May it please your highness, I am in an amazingly tangled state of mind,” admitted the baron, passing his hand over his brow.

“Do you mean that another mysterious prince has come to life?” asked Yetive, her eyes sparkling with interest in the revelations.

“Early this morning a despatch came to me from the Grand Duke Michael of Rapp-Thorberg, a duchy in western Europe, informing me that the duke’s eldest son had fled from home and is known to have come to the far east, possibly to Graustark.”

“Great Scott!” exclaimed Anguish. “It never rains but it hails, so here’s hail to the princes three.”

“We are the Mecca for runaway royalty, it seems,” said Count Halfont.

“Go on with the story, Baron Dangloss,” cried the princess. “It is like a book.”

“A description of the young man accompanies the offer of a large reward for information that may lead to his return home for reconciliation. And—” here the baron paused dramatically.

“And what?” interjected Beverly, who could not wait.

“The description fits our friend Baldos perfectly!”

“You don’t mean it?” exclaimed Lorry. “Then, he may be any one of the three you have mentioned?”

“Let me tell you what the grand duke’s secretary says. I have the official notice, but left it in my desk. The runaway son of the grand duke is called Christobal. He is twenty-seven years of age, speaks English fluently, besides French and our own language. It seems that he attended an English college with Prince Dantan and some of our own young men who are still in England. Six weeks ago he disappeared from his father’s home. At the same time a dozen wild and venturous retainers left the grand duchy. The party was seen in Vienna a week later, and the young duke boldly announced that he was off to the east to help his friend Dantan in the fight for his throne. Going on the theory that Baldos is this same Christobal, we have only to provide a reason for his preferring the wilds to the comforts of our cities. In the first place, he knows there is a large reward for his apprehension and he fears—our police. In the second place, he does not care to direct the attention of Prince Dantan’s foes to himself. He missed Dantan in the hills and doubtless was lost for weeks. But the true reason for his flight is made plain in the story that was printed recently in Paris and Berlin newspapers. According to them, Christobal rebelled against his father’s right to select a wife for him. The grand duke had chosen a noble and wealthy bride, and the son had selected a beautiful girl from the lower walks of life. Father and son quarreled and neither would give an inch. Christobal would not marry his father’s choice, and the grand duke would not sanction his union with the fair plebeian.”

Here Beverly exclaimed proudly, her face glowing: “He doesn’t look like the sort of man who could be bullied into marrying anybody if he didn’t want to.”

“And he strikes me as the sort who would marry any one he set his heart upon having,” added the princess, with a taunting glance at Miss Calhoun.

“Umph!” sniffed Beverly defiantly. The baron went on with his narrative, exhibiting signs of excitement.

“To lend color to the matter, Christobal’s sweetheart, the daughter of a game-warden, was murdered the night before her lover fled. I know nothing of the circumstances attending the crime, but it is my understanding that Christobal is not suspected. It is possible that he is ignorant even now of the girl’s fate.”

“Well, by the gods, we have a goodly lot of heroes about us,” exclaimed Lorry.

“But, after all,” ventured the Countess Halfont, “Baldos may be none of these men.”

“Good heavens, Aunt Yvonne, don’t suggest anything so distressing,” said Yetive. “He must be one of them.”

“I suggest a speedy way of determining the matter,” said Anguish. “Let us send for Baldos and ask him point blank who he is. I think it is up to him to clear away the mystery.”

“No!” cried Beverly, starting to her feet.

“It seems to be the only way,” said Lorry.

“But I promised him that no questions should be asked,” said Beverly, almost tearfully but quite resolutely. “Didn’t I, yet—your highness?”

“Alas, yes!” said the princess, with a pathetic little smile of resignation, but with loyalty in the clasp of her hand.

CHAPTER XIV

A VISIT AND ITS CONSEQUENCES

That same afternoon Baldos, blissfully ignorant of the stir he had created in certain circles, rode out for the first time as a member of the Castle Guard. He and Haddan were detailed by Colonel Quinnox to act as private escort to Miss Calhoun until otherwise ordered. If Haddan thought himself wiser than Baldos in knowing that their charge was not the princess, he was very much mistaken; if he enjoyed the trick that was being played on his fellow guardsman, his enjoyment was as nothing as compared to the pleasure Baldos was deriving from the situation. The royal victoria was driven to the fortress, conveying the supposed princess and the Countess Dagmar to the home of Count Marlanx. The two guards rode bravely behind the equipage, resplendent in brilliant new uniforms. Baldos was mildly surprised and puzzled by the homage paid the young American girl. It struck him as preposterous that the entire population of Edelweiss could be in the game to deceive him.

“Who is the princess’s companion?” he inquired of Haddan, as they left the castle grounds.

“The Countess Dagmar, cousin to her highness. She is the wife of Mr. Anguish.”

“I have seen her before,” said Baldos, a strange smile on his face.

The Countess Dagmar found it difficult at first to meet the eye of the new guard, but he was so punctiliously oblivious that her courage was restored. She even went so far as to whisper in Beverly’s ear that he did not remember her face, and probably would not recognize Yetive as one of the eavesdroppers. The princess had flatly refused to accompany them on the visit to the fortress because of Baldos. Struck by a sudden impulse, Beverly called Baldos to the side of the vehicle.

“Baldos, you behaved very nicely yesterday in exposing the duplicity of those young women,” she said.

“I am happy to have pleased your highness,” he said steadily.

“It may interest you to know that they ceased to be ladies-in-waiting after that exposure.”

“Yes, your highness, it certainly is interesting,” he said, as he fell back into position beside Haddan. During the remainder of the ride he caught himself time after time gazing reflectively at the back of her proud little head, possessed of an almost uncontrollable desire to touch the soft brown hair.

“You can’t fool that excellent young man much longer, my dear,” said the countess, recalling the look in his dark eyes. The same thought had been afflicting Beverly with its probabilities for twenty-four hours and more.

Count Marlanx welcomed his visitors with a graciousness that awoke wonder in the minds of his staff. His marked preference for the American girl did not escape attention. Some of the bolder young officers indulged in surreptitious grimaces, and all looked with more or less compassion upon the happy-faced beauty from over the sea. Marlanx surveyed Baldos steadily and coldly, deep disapproval in his sinister eyes. He had not forgotten the encounter of the day before.

“I see the favorite is on guard,” he said blandly. “Has he told you of the lesson in manners he enjoyed last night?” He was leading his guests toward the quarters, Baldos and Haddan following. The new guard could not help hearing the sarcastic remark.

“You didn’t have him beaten?” cried Beverly, stopping short.

“No, but I imagine it would have been preferable. I talked with him for half an hour,” said the general, laughing significantly.

When the party stopped at the drinking-fountain in the center of the fort, Baldos halted near by. His face was as impassive as marble, his eyes set straight before him, his figure erect and soldierly. An occasional sarcastic remark by the Iron Count, meant for his ears, made no impression upon the deadly composure of the new guard who had had his lesson. Miss Calhoun was conscious of a vague feeling that she had served Baldos an ill-turn when she put him into this position.

The count provided a light luncheon in his quarters after the ladies had gone over the fortress. Beverly Calhoun, with all of a woman’s indifference to things material, could not but see how poorly equipped the fort was as compared to the ones she had seen in the United States. She and the countess visited the armory, the arsenal, and the repair shops before luncheon, reserving the pleasures of the clubhouse, the officers’ quarters, and the parade-ground until afterwards. Count Marlanx’s home was in the southeast corner of the enclosure, near the gates. Several of the officers lunched with him and the young ladies. Marlanx was assiduous in his attention to Beverly Calhoun—so much so, in fact, that the countess teased her afterwards about her conquest of the old and well-worn heart. Beverly thought him extremely silly and sentimental, much preferring him in the character of the harsh, implacable martinet.

At regular intervals she saw the straight, martial form of Baldos pass the window near which she sat. He was patrolling the narrow piazza which fronted the house. Toward the close of the rather trying luncheon she was almost unable to control the impulse to rush out and compel him to relax that imposing, machine-like stride. She hungered for a few minutes of the old-time freedom with him.

The Iron Count was showing her some rare antique bronzes he had collected in the south. The luncheon was over and the countess had strolled off toward the bastions with the young officers, leaving Beverly alone with the host. Servants came in to clear the tables, but the count harshly ordered them to wait until the guests had departed.

“It is the dearest thing I have seen,” said Beverly, holding a rare old candlestick at arm’s length and looking at it in as many ways as the wrist could turn. Her loose sleeves ended just below the elbows. The count’s eyes followed the graceful curves of her white forearm with an eagerness that was annoying.

“I prize it more dearly than any other piece in my collection,” he said. “It came from Rome; it has a history which I shall try to tell you some day, and which makes it almost invaluable. A German nobleman offered me a small fortune if I would part with it.”

“And you wouldn’t sell it?”

“I was saving it for an occasion, your highness,” he said, his steely eyes glittering. “The glad hour has come when I can part with it for a recompense far greater than the baron’s gold.”

“Oh, isn’t it lucky you kept it?” she cried. Then she turned her eyes away quickly, for his gaze seemed greedily endeavoring to pierce through the lace insertion covering her neck and shoulders. Outside the window the steady tramp of the tall guard went on monotonously.

“The recompense of a sweet smile, a tender blush and the unguarded thanks of a pretty woman. The candlestick is yours, Miss Calhoun,—if you will repay me for my sacrifice by accepting it without reservation.”

Slowly Beverly Calhoun set the candlestick down upon the table her eyes meeting his with steady disdain.

“What a rare old jester you are, Count Marlanx,” she said without a smile. “If I thought you were in earnest I should scream with laughter. May I suggest that we join the countess? We must hurry along, you know. She and I have promised to play tennis with the princess at three o’clock.” The count’s glare of disappointment lasted but a moment. The diplomacy of egotism came to his relief, and he held back the gift for another day, but not for another woman.

“It grieves me to have you hurry away. My afternoon is to be a dull one, unless you permit me to watch the tennis game,” he said.

“I thought you were interested only in the game of war,” she said pointedly.

“I stand in greater awe of a tennis ball than I do of a cannonball, if it is sent by such an arm as yours,” and he not only laid his eyes but his hand upon her bare arm. She started as if something had stung her, and a cold shiver raced over her warm flesh. His eyes for the moment held her spellbound. He was drawing the hand to his lips when a shadow darkened the French window, and a saber rattled warningly.

Count Marlanx looked up instantly, a scowl on his face. Baldos stood at the window in an attitude of alert attention. Beverly drew her arm away spasmodically and took a step toward the window. The guard saw by her eyes that she was frightened, but, if his heart beat violently, his face was the picture of military stoniness.

“What are you doing there?” snarled the count.

“Did your highness call?” asked Baldos coolly.

“She did not call, fellow,” said the count with deadly menace in his voice. “Report to me in half an hour. You still have something to learn, I see.” Beverly was alarmed by the threat in his tones. She saw what was in store for Baldos, for she knew quite as well as Marlanx that the guard had deliberately intervened in her behalf.

“He cannot come in half an hour,” she cried quickly. “I have something for him to do, Count Marlanx. Besides, I think I did call.” Both men stared at her.

“My ears are excellent,” said Marlanx stiffly.

“I fancy Baldos’s must be even better, for he heard me,” said Beverly, herself once more. The shadow of a smile crossed the face of the guard.

“He is impertinent, insolent, your highness. You will report to me tomorrow, sir, at nine o’clock in Colonel Quinnox’s quarters. Now, go!” commanded the count.

“Wait a minute, Baldos. We are going out, too. Will you open that window for me?” Baldos gladly took it as a command and threw open the long French window. She gave him a grateful glance as she stepped through, and he could scarcely conceal the gleam of joy that shot into his own eyes. The dark scowl on the count’s face made absolutely no impression upon him. He closed the window and followed ten paces behind the couple.

“Your guard is a priceless treasure,” said the count grimly.

“That’s what you said about the candlestick,” said she sweetly.

She was disturbed by his threat to reprimand Baldos. For some time her mind had been struggling with what the count had said about “the lesson.” It grew upon her that her friend had been bullied and humiliated, perhaps in the presence of spectators. Resentment fired her curiosity into action. While the general was explaining one of the new gun-carriages to the countess, Beverly walked deliberately over to where Baldos was standing. Haddan’s knowledge of English was exceedingly limited, and he could understand but little of the rapid conversation. Standing squarely in front of Baldos, she questioned him in low tones.

“What did he mean when he said he had given you a lesson?” she demanded. His eyes gleamed merrily.

“He meant to alarm your highness.”

“Didn’t he give you a talking to?”

“He coached me in ethics.”

“You are evading the question, sir. Was he mean and nasty to you? Tell me; I want to know.”

“Well, he said things that a soldier must endure. A civilian or an equal might have run him through for it, your highness.” A flush rose to his cheeks and his lips quivered ever so slightly. But Beverly saw and understood. Her heart was in her eyes.

“That settles it,” she said rigidly. “You are not to report to him at nine tomorrow.”

“But he will have me shot, your highness,” said he gladly.

“He will do nothing of the kind. You are my guard,” and her eyes were gleaming dangerously. Then she rejoined the group, the members of which had been watching her curiously. “Count Marlanx,” she said, with entrancing dimples, “will you report to me at nine tomorrow morning?”

“I have an appointment,” he said slowly, but with understanding.

“But you will break it, I am sure,” she asserted confidently. “I want to give you a lesson in—in lawn tennis.”

Later on, when the victoria was well away from the fort, Dagmar took her companion to task for holding in public friendly discourse with a member of the guard, whoever he might be.

“It is altogether contrary to custom, and—” but Beverly put her hand over the critical lips and smiled like a guilty child.

“Now, don’t scold,” she pleaded, and the countess could go no further.

The following morning Count Marlanx reported at nine o’clock with much better grace than he had suspected himself capable of exercising. What she taught him of tennis on the royal courts, in the presence of an amused audience, was as nothing to what he learned of strategy as it can be practiced by a whimsical girl. Almost before he knew it she had won exemption for Baldos, that being the stake for the first set of singles. To his credit, the count was game. He took the wager, knowing that he, in his ignorance, could not win from the blithe young expert in petticoats. Then he offered to wager the brass candlestick against her bracelet. She considered for a moment and then, in a spirit of enthusiasm, accepted the proposition. After all, she coveted the candlestick. Half an hour later an orderly was riding to the fort with instructions to return at once with Miss Calhoun’s candlestick. It is on record that they were “love” sets, which goes to prove that Beverly took no chances.

Count Marlanx, puffing and perspiring, his joints dismayed and his brain confused, rode away at noon with Baron Dangloss. Beverly, quite happy in her complete victory, enjoyed a nap of profound sweetness and then was ready for her walk with the princess. They were strolling leisurely about the beautiful grounds, safe in the shade of the trees from the heat of the July sun, when Baron Dangloss approached.

“Your royal highness,” he began, with his fierce smile, “may I beg a moment’s audience?”

“It has to do with Baldos, I’ll take oath,” said Beverly, with conviction.

“Yes, with your guard. Yesterday he visited the fortress. He went in an official capacity, it is true, but he was privileged to study the secrets of our defense with alarming freedom. It would not surprise me to find that this stranger has learned everything there is to know about the fort.” His listeners were silent. The smiles left their faces. “I am not saying that he would betray us—”

“No, no!” protested Beverly.

“—but he is in a position to give the most valuable information to an enemy. An officer has just informed me that Baldos missed not a detail in regard to the armament, or the location of vital spots in the construction of the fortress.”

“But he wouldn’t be so base as to use his knowledge to our undoing,” cried Yetive seriously.

“We only know that he is not one of us. It is not beyond reason that his allegiance is to another power, Dawsbergen, for instance. Count Marlanx is not at all in sympathy with him, you are aware. He is convinced that Baldos is a man of consequence, possibly one of our bitterest enemies, and he hates him. For my own part, I may say that I like the man. I believe he is to be trusted, but if he be an agent of Volga or Gabriel, his opportunity has come. He is in a position to make accurate maps of the fort and of all our masked fortifications along the city walls.” Beyond a doubt, the baron was worried.

“Neither am I one of you,” said Beverly stoutly. “Why shouldn’t I prove to be a traitress?”

“You have no quarrel with us, Miss Calhoun,” said Dangloss.

“If anything happens, then, I am to be blamed for it,” she cried in deep distress. “I brought him to Edelweiss, and I believe in him.”

“For his own sake, your highness, and Miss Calhoun, I suggest that no opportunity should be given him to communicate with the outside world. We cannot accuse him, of course, but we can protect him. I come to ask your permission to have him detailed for duty only in places where no suspicion can attach to any of his actions.”

“You mean inside the city walls?” asked Yetive.

“Yes, your highness, and as far as possible from the fortress.”

“I think it is a wise precaution. Don’t be angry, Beverly,” the princess said gently. “It is for his own sake, you see. I am acting on the presumption that he is wholly innocent of any desire to betray us.”

“It would be easy for someone high in position to accuse and convict him,” said Dangloss meaningly.

“And it would be just like someone, too,” agreed Beverly, her thoughts, with the others’, going toward none but one man “high in power.”

Later in the day she called Baldos to her side as they were riding in the castle avenue. She was determined to try a little experiment of her own.

“Baldos, what do you think of the fortress?” she asked.

“I could overthrow it after half an hour’s bombardment, your highness,” he answered, without thinking. She started violently.

“Is it possible? Are there so many weak points?” she went on, catching her breath.

“There are three vital points of weakness, your highness. The magazine can be reached from the outside if one knows the lay of the land; the parade-ground exposes the ammunition building to certain disadvantages, and the big guns could be silenced in an hour if an enemy had the sense first to bombard from the elevation northeast of the city.”

“Good heavens!” gasped poor Beverly. “Have you studied all this out?”

“I was once a real soldier, your highness,” he said, simply. “It was impossible for me not to see the defects in your fort.”

“You—you haven’t told anyone of this, have you?” she cried, white-faced and anxious.

“No one but your highness. You do not employ me as a tale-bearer, I trust.”

“I did not mean to question your honor,” she said. “Would you mind going before the heads of the war department and tell them just what you have told me? I mean about the weak spots.”

“If it is your command, your highness,” he said quietly, but he was surprised.

“You may expect to be summoned then, so hold yourself in readiness. And, Baldos—”

“Yes, your highness?”

“You need say nothing to them of our having talked the matter over beforehand—unless they pin you down to it, you know.”

CHAPTER XV

THE TESTING OF BALDOS

A few hours later, all was dark and silent within the castle. On the stone walks below, the steady tread of sentinels rose on the still air; in the hallways the trusted guardsmen glided about like spectres or stood like statues. An hour before the great edifice had been bright and full of animation; now it slumbered.

It was two o’clock. The breath of roses scented the air, the gurgle of fountains was the only music that touched the ear. Beverly Calhoun, dismissing Aunt Fanny, stepped from her window out upon the great stone balcony. A rich oriental dressing-gown, loose and comfortable, was her costume. Something told her that sleep would be a long time coming, and an hour in the warm, delightful atmosphere of the night was more attractive than the close, sleepless silence of her own room. Every window along the balcony was dark, proving that the entire household had retired to rest.

She was troubled. The fear had entered her head that the castle folk were regretting the advent of Baldos, that everyone was questioning the wisdom of his being in the position he occupied through her devices. Her talk with him did much to upset her tranquillity. That he knew so much of the fortress bore out the subtle suspicions of Dangloss and perhaps others. She was troubled, not that she doubted him, but that if anything went wrong an accusation against him, however unjust, would be difficult to overcome. And she would be to blame, in a large degree.

For many minutes she sat in the dark shadow of a great pillar, her elbows upon the cool balustrade, staring dreamily into the star-studded vault above. Far away in the air she could see the tiny yellow lights of the monastery, lonely sentinel on the mountain top. From the heights near that abode of peace and penitence an enemy could destroy the fortress to the south. Had not Baldos told her so? One big gun would do the work if it could be taken to that altitude. Baldos could draw a perfect map of the fortress. He could tell precisely where the shells should fall. And already the chief men in Edelweiss were wondering who he was and to what end he might utilize his knowledge. They were watching him, they were warning her.

For the first time since she came to the castle, she felt a sense of loneliness, a certain unhappiness. She could not shake off the feeling that she was, after all, alone in her belief in Baldos. Her heart told her that the tall, straightforward fellow she had met in the hills was as honest as the day. She was deceiving him, she realized, but he was misleading no one. Off in a distant part of the castle ground she could see the long square shadow that marked the location of the barracks and messroom. There he was sleeping, confidently believing in her and her power to save him from all harm. Something in her soul cried out to him that she would be staunch and true, and that he might sleep without a tremor of apprehensiveness.

Suddenly she smiled nervously and drew back into the shadow of the pillar. It occurred to her that he might be looking across the moon-lit park, looking directly at her through all that shadowy distance. She was conscious of a strange glow in her cheeks and a quickening of the blood as she pulled the folds of her gown across her bare throat.

“Not the moon, nor the stars, nor the light in St. Valentine’s, but the black thing away off there on the earth,” said a soft voice behind her, and Beverly started as if the supernatural had approached her. She turned to face the princess, who stood almost at her side.

“Yetive! How did you get here?”

“That is what you are looking at, dear,” went on Yetive, as if completing her charge. “Why are you not in bed?”

“And you? I thought you were sound asleep long ago,” murmured Beverly, abominating the guilty feeling that came over her. The princess threw her arm about Beverly’s shoulder.

“I have been watching you for half an hour,” she said gently. “Can’t two look at the moon and stars as well as one? Isn’t it my grim old castle? Let us sit here together, dear, and dream awhile.”

“You dear Yetive,” and Beverly drew her down beside her on the cushions. “But, listen: I want you to get something out of your head. I was not looking at anything in particular.”

“Beverly, I believe you were thinking of Baldos,” said the other, her fingers straying fondly across the girl’s soft hair.

“Ridiculous!” said Beverly, conscious for the first time that he was seldom out of her thoughts. The realization came like a blow, and her eyes grew very wide out there in the darkness.

“And you are troubled on his account. I know it, dear. You—”

“Well, Yetive, why shouldn’t I be worried? I brought him here against his will,” protested Beverly. “If anything should happen to him—” she shuddered involuntarily.

“Don’t be afraid, Beverly. I have as much confidence in him as you have. His eyes are true. Grenfall believes in him, too, and so does Mr. Anguish. Gren says he would swear by him, no matter who he is.”

“But the others?” Beverly whispered.

“Baron Dangloss is his friend, and so is Quinnox. They know a man. The count is different.”

“I loathe that old wretch!”

“Hush! He has not wronged you in any way.”

“But he has been unfair and mean to Baldos.”

“It is a soldier’s lot, my dear.”

“But he may be Prince Dantan or Frederic or the other one, don’t you know,” argued Beverly, clenching her hands firmly.

“In that event, he would be an honorable soldier, and we have nothing to fear in him. Neither of them is our enemy. It is the possibility that he is not one of them that makes his presence here look dangerous.”

“I don’t want to talk about him,” said Beverly, but she was disappointed when the princess obligingly changed the subject.

Baldos was not surprised, scarcely more than interested, when a day or two later, he was summoned to appear before the board of strategy. If anyone had told him, however, that on a recent night a pair of dreamy gray eyes had tried to find his window in the great black shadow, he might have jumped in amazement and—delight. For at that very hour he was looking off toward the castle, and his thoughts were of the girl who drew back into the shadow of the pillar.

The Graustark ministry had received news from the southern frontier. Messengers came in with the alarming and significant report that Dawsbergen was strengthening her fortifications in the passes and moving war supplies northward. It meant that Gabriel and his people expected a fight and were preparing for it. Count Halfont hastily called the ministers together, and Lorry and the princess took part in their deliberations. General Marlanx represented the army; and it was he who finally asked to have Baldos brought before the council. The Iron Count plainly intimated that the new guard was in a position to transmit valuable information to the enemy. Colonel Quinnox sent for him, and Baldos was soon standing in the presence of Yetive and her advisers. He looked about him with a singular smile. The one whom he was supposed to regard as the princess was not in the council chamber. Lorry opened the examination at the request of Count Halfont, the premier. Baldos quietly answered the questions concerning his present position, his age, his term of enlistment, and his interpretations of the obligations required of him.

“Ask him who he really is,” suggested the Iron Count sarcastically.

“We can expect but one answer to that question,” said Lorry, “and that is the one which he chooses to give.”

“My name is Baldos—Paul Baldos,” said the guard, but he said it in such a way that no one could mistake his appreciation of the fact that he could give one name as well as another and still serve his own purposes.

“That is lie number one,” observed Marlanx loudly. Every eye was turned upon Baldos, but his face did not lose its half-mocking expression of serenity.

“Proceed with the examination, Mr. Lorry” said Count Halfont, interpreting a quick glance from Yetive.

“Are you willing to answer any and all questions we may ask in connection with your observations since you became a member of the castle guard?” asked Lorry.

“I am.”

“Did you take especial care to study the interior of the fortress when you were there several days ago?”

“I did.”

“Have you discussed your observations with anyone since that time?”

“I have.”

“With whom?”

“With her highness, the princess,” said Baldos, without a quiver. There was a moment’s silence, and furtive looks were cast in the direction of Yetive, whose face was a study. Almost instantaneously the entire body of listeners understood that he referred to Beverly Calhoun. Baldos felt that he had been summoned before the board at the instigation of his fair protectress.

“And your impressions have gone no further?”

“They have not, sir. It was most confidential.”

“Could you accurately reproduce the plans of the fortress?”

“I think so. It would be very simple.”

“Have you studied engineering?”

“Yes.”

“And you could scientifically enumerate the defects in the construction of the fort?”

“It would not be very difficult, sir.”

“It has come to our ears that you consider the fortress weak in several particulars. Have you so stated at any time?”

“I told the princess that the fortress is deplorably weak. In fact, I think I mentioned that it could be taken with ease.” He was not looking at Count Marlanx, but he knew that the old man’s eyes were flaming. Then he proceeded to tell the board how he could overcome the fortress, elaborating on his remarks to Beverly. The ministers listened in wonder to the words of this calm, indifferent young man.

“Will you oblige us by making a rough draft of the fort’s interior?” asked Lorry, after a solemn pause. Baldos took the paper and in remarkably quick time drew the exact lay of the fortress. The sketch went the rounds and apprehensive looks were exchanged by the ministers.

“It is accurate, by Jove,” exclaimed Lorry. “I doubt if a dweller in the fort could do better. You must have been very observing.”

“And very much interested,” snarled Marlanx.

“Only so far as I imagined my observations might be of benefit to someone else,” said Baldos coolly. Again the silence was like death.

“Do you know what you are saying, Baldos?” asked Lorry, after a moment.

“Certainly, Mr. Lorry. It is the duty of any servant of her highness to give her all that he has in him. If my observations can be of help to her, I feel in duty bound to make the best of them for her sake, not for my own.”

“Perhaps you can suggest modifications in the fort,” snarled Marlanx. “Why don’t you do it, sir, and let us have the benefit of your superior intelligence? No, gentlemen, all this prating of loyalty need not deceive us,” he cried, springing to his feet. “The fellow is nothing more nor less than an infernal spy—and the Tower is the place for him! He can do no harm there.”

“If it were my intention to do harm, gentlemen, do you imagine that I should withhold my information for days?” asked Baldos. “If I am a spy, you may rest assured that Count Marlanx’s kindnesses should not have been so long disregarded. A spy does not believe in delays.”

“My—my kindnesses?” cried Marlanx. “What do you mean, sir?”

“I mean this. Count Marlanx,” said Baldos, looking steadily into the eyes of the head of the army. “It was kind and considerate of you to admit me to the fortress—no matter in what capacity, especially at a critical time like this. You did not know me, you had no way of telling whether my intentions were honest or otherwise, and yet I was permitted to go through the fort from end to end. No spy could wish for greater generosity than that.”

An almost imperceptible smile went round the table, and every listener but one breathed more freely. The candor and boldness of the guard won the respect and confidence of all except Marlanx. The Iron Count was white with anger. He took the examination out of Lorry’s hands, and plied the stranger with insulting questions, each calm answer making him more furious than before. At last, in sheer impotence, he relapsed into silence, waving his hand to Lorry to indicate that he might resume.

“You will understand, Baldos, that we have some cause for apprehension,” said Lorry, immensely gratified by the outcome of the tilt. “You are a stranger; and, whether you admit it or not, there is reason to believe that you are not what you represent yourself to be.”

“I am a humble guard at present, sir, and a loyal one. My life is yours should I prove otherwise.”

Yetive whispered something in Lorry’s ear at this juncture. She was visibly pleased and excited. He looked doubtful for an instant, and then apparently followed her suggestion, regardless of consequences.

“Would you be willing to utilize your knowledge as an engineer by suggesting means to strengthen the fortress?” The others stared in fresh amazement. Marlanx went as white as death.

“Never!” he blurted out hoarsely.

“I will do anything the princess commands me to do,” said Baldos easily.

“You mean that you serve her only?”

“I serve her first, sir. If she were here she could command me to die, and there would be an end to Baldos,” and he smiled as he said it. The real princess looked at him with a new, eager expression, as if something had just become clear to her. There was a chorus of coughs and a round of sly looks.

“She could hardly ask you to die,” said Yetive, addressing him for the first time.

“A princess is like April weather, madam,” said Baldos, with rare humor, and the laugh was general, Yetive resolved to talk privately with this excellent wit before the hour was over. She was confident that he knew her to be the princess.

“I would like to ask the fellow another question,” said Marlanx, fingering his sword-hilt nervously. “You say you serve the princess. Do you mean by that that you imagine your duties as a soldier to comprise dancing polite attendance within the security of these walls?”

“I believe I enlisted as a member of the castle guard, sir. The duty of the guard is to protect the person of the ruler of Graustark, and to do that to the death.”

“It is my belief that you are a spy. You can show evidence of good faith by enlisting to fight against Dawsbergen and by shooting to kill,” said the count, with a sinister gleam in his eye.

“And if I decline to serve in any other capacity than the one I now—”

“Then I shall brand you as a spy and a coward.”

“You have already called me a spy, your excellency. It will not make it true, let me add, if you call me a coward. I refuse to take up arms against either Dawsbergen or Axphain.”

The remark created a profound sensation.

“Then you are employed by both instead of one!” shouted the Iron Count gleefully.

“I am employed as a guard for her royal highness,” said Baldos, with a square glance at Yetive, “and not as a fighter in the ranks. I will fight till death for her, but not for Graustark.”