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GRAUSTARK (Part 1)

The Story of a Love Behind a Throne

CHAPTER I

MR. GRENFALL LORRY SEEKS ADVENTURE

Mr. Grenfall Lorry boarded the east-bound express at Denver with all the air of a martyr. He had traveled pretty much all over the world, and he was not without resources, but the prospect of a twenty-five hundred mile journey alone filled him with dismay. The country he knew; the scenery had long since lost its attractions for him; countless newsboys had failed to tempt him with the literature they thrust in his face, and as for his fellow-passengers—well, he preferred to be alone. And so it was that he gloomily motioned the porter to his boxes and mounted the steps with weariness.

As it happened, Mr. Grenfall Lorry did not have a dull moment after the train started.

He stumbled on a figure that leaned toward the window in the dark passageway. With reluctant civility he apologized; a lady stood up to let him pass, and for an instant in the half light their eyes met, and that is why the miles rushed by with incredible speed.

Mr. Lorry had been dawdling away the months in Mexico and California. For years he had felt, together with many other people, that a sea-voyage was the essential beginning of every journey; he had started round the world soon after leaving Cambridge; he had fished through Norway and hunted in India, and shot everything from grouse on the Scottish moors to the rapids above Assouan. He had run in and out of countless towns and countries on the coast of South America; he had done Russia and the Rhone valley and Brittany and Damascus; he had seen them all—but not until then did it occur to him that there might be something of interest nearer home. True he had thought of joining some Englishmen on a hunting tour in the Rockies, but that had fallen through. When the idea of Mexico did occur to him he gave orders to pack his things, purchased interminable green tickets, dined unusually well at his club, and was off in no time to the unknown West.

There was a theory in his family that it would have been a decenter thing for him to stop running about and settle down to work. But his thoughtful father had given him a wealthy mother, and as earning a living was not a necessity, he failed to see why it was a duty. “Work is becoming to some men,” he once declared, “like whiskers or red ties, but it does not follow that all men can stand it.” After that the family found him “hopeless,” and the argument dropped.

He was just under thirty years, as good-looking as most men, with no one dependent upon him and an income that had withstood both the Maison Doree and a dahabeah on the Nile. He never tired of seeing things and peoples and places. “There’s game to be found anywhere,” he said, “only it’s sometimes out of season. If I had my way—and millions—I should run a newspaper. Then all the excitements would come to me. As it is—I’m poor, and so I have to go all over the world after them.”

This agreeable theory of life had worked well; he was a little bored at times—not because he had seen too much, but because there were not more things left to see. He had managed somehow to keep his enthusiasms through everything—and they made life worth living. He felt too a certain elation—like a spirited horse—at turning toward home, but Washington had not much to offer him, and the thrill did not last. His big bag and his hatbox—pasted over with foolish labels from continental hotels—were piled in the corner of his compartment, and he settled back in his seat with a pleasurable sense of expectancy. The presence in the next room of a very smart appearing young woman was prominent in his consciousness. It gave him an uneasiness which was the beginning of delight. He had seen her for only a second in the passageway, but that second had made him hold himself a little straighter. “Why is it,” he wondered, “that some girls make you stand like a footman the moment you see them?” Grenfall had been in love too many times to think of marriage; his habit of mind was still general, and he classified women broadly. At the same time he had a feeling that in this case generalities did not apply well; there was something about the girl that made him hesitate at labelling her “Class A, or B, or Z.” What it was he did not know, but—unaccountably-she filled him with an affected formality He felt like bowing to her with a grand air and much dignity. And yet he realized that his successes had come from confidence.

At luncheon he saw her in the dining car. Her companions were elderly persons—presumably her parents. They talked mostly in French—occasionally using a German word or phrase. The old gentleman was stately and austere—with an air of deference to the young woman which Grenfall did not understand. His appearance was very striking; his face pale and heavily lined; moustache and imperial gray; the eyebrows large and bushy, and the jaw and chin square and firm. The white-haired lady carried her head high with unmistakable gentility. They were all dressed in traveling suits which suggested something foreign, but not Vienna nor Paris; smart, but far from American tastes.

Lorry watched the trio with great interest. Twice during luncheon the young woman glanced toward him carelessly and left an annoying impression that she had not seen him. As they left the table and passed into the observation car, he stared at her with some defiance. But she was smiling, and her dimples showed, and Grenfall was ashamed. For some moments he sat gazing from the car window—forgetting his luncheon-dreaming.

When he got back to his compartment he rang vigorously for the porter. A coin was carelessly displayed in his fingers. “Do you suppose you could find out who has the next compartment, porter?”

“I don’t know their name, sub, but they’s goin’ to New York jis as fas’ as they can git thuh. I ain’ ax um no questions, ’cause thuh’s somethin’ ’bout um makes me feel’s if I ain’ got no right to look at um even.”

The porter thought a moment.

“I don’ believe it’ll do yuh any good, suh, to try to shine up to tha’ young lady. She ain’ the sawt, I can tell yuh that. I done see too many guhls in ma time—”

“What are you talking about? I’m not trying to shine up to her. I only want to know who she is—just out of curiosity.” Grenfall’s face was a trifle red.

“Beg pahdon, suh; but I kind o’ thought you was like orh’ gent’men when they see a han’some woman. Allus wants to fin’ out somethin’ ’bout huh, suh, yuh know. ’Scuse me foh misjedgin’ yuh, suh. Th’ lady in question is a foh’ner—she lives across th’ ocean, ’s fuh as I can fin’ out. They’s in a hurry to git home foh some reason, ’cause they ain’ goin’ to stop this side o’ New York, ’cept to change cahs.”

“Where do they change cars?”

“St. Louis—goin’ by way of Cincinnati an’ Washin’ton.”

Grenfall’s ticket carried him by way of Chicago. He caught himself wondering if he could exchange his ticket in St. Louis.

“Traveling with her father and mother, I suppose?”

“No, suh; they’s huh uncle and aunt. I heah huh call ’em uncle an’ aunt. Th’ ole gent’man is Uncle Caspar. I don’ know what they talk ’bout. It’s mostly some foh’en language. Th’ young lady allus speaks Amehican to me, but th’ old folks cain’t talk it ver’ well. They all been to Frisco, an’ the hired he’p they’s got with ’em say they been to Mexico, too. Th’ young lady’s got good Amehican dollahs, don’ care wha’ she’s been. She allus smiles when she ask me to do anythin’, an’ I wouldn’ care if she nevah tipped me, ’s long as she smiles thataway.”

“Servants with them, you say?”

“Yas, suh; man an’ woman, nex’ section t’other side the ole folks. Cain’t say mor’n fifteen words in Amehican. Th’ woman is huh maid, an’ the man he’s th’ genial hustler fer th’ hull pahty.”

“And you don’t know her name?”

“No, sun, an’ I cain’t ver’ well fin’ out.”

“In what part of Europe does she live?”

“Australia, I think, suh.”

“You mean Austria.”

“Do I? ’Scuse ma ig’nance. I was jis’ guessin’ at it anyhow; one place’s as good as ’nother ovah thuh, I reckon.”

“Have you one of those dollars she gave you?”

“Yes, sub. Heh’s a coin that ain’ Amehican, but she says it’s wuth seventy cents in our money. It’s a foh’en piece. She tell me to keep it till I went ovah to huh country; then I could have a high time with it—that’s what she says—’a high time’—an’ smiled kind o’ knowin’ like.”

“Let me see that coin,” said Lorry, eagerly taking the silver piece from the porter’s hand. “I never saw one like it before. Greek, it looks to me, but I can’t make a thing out of these letters. She gave it to you?”

“Yas, suh—las’ evenin’. A high time on seventy cents! That’s reediculous, ain’t it?” demanded the porter scornfully.

“I’ll give you a dollar for it. You can have a higher time on that.”

The odd little coin changed owners immediately, and the new possessor dropped it into his pocket with the inward conviction that he was the silliest fool in existence. After the porter’s departure he took the coin from his pocket, and, with his back to the door, his face to the window, studied its lettering.

During the afternoon he strolled about the train, his hand constantly jingling the coins. He passed her compartment several times, yet refrained from looking in. But he wondered if she saw him pass.

At one little station a group of Indian bear hunters created considerable interest among the passengers. Grenfall was down at the station platform at once, looking over a great stack of game. As he left the car he met Uncle Caspar, who was hurrying toward his niece’s section. A few moments later she came down the steps, followed by the dignified old gentleman. Grenfall tingled with a strange delight as she moved quite close to his side in her desire to see. Once he glanced at her face; there was a pretty look of fear in her eyes as she surveyed the massive bears and the stark, stiff antelopes. But she laughed as she turned away with her uncle.

Grenfall was smoking his cigarette and vigorously jingling the coins in his pocket when the train pulled out. Then he swung on the car steps and found himself at her feet. She was standing at the top, where she had lingered a moment. There was an expression of anxiety, in her eyes as he looked up into them, followed instantly by one of relief. Then she passed into the car. She had seen him swing upon the moving steps and had feared for his safety—had shown in her glorious face that she was glad he did not fall beneath the wheels. Doubtless she would have been as solicitous had he been the porter or the brakeman, he reasoned, but that she had noticed him at all pleased him.

At Abilene he bought the Kansas City newspapers. After breakfast he found a seat in the observation car and settled himself to read. Presently some one took a seat behind him. He did not look back, but unconcernedly cast his eyes upon the broad mirror in the opposite car wall. Instantly he forgot his paper. She was sitting within five feet of him, a book in her lap, her gaze bent briefly on the flitting buildings outside. He studied the reflection furtively until she took up the book and began to read. Up to this time he had wondered why some nonsensical idiot had wasted looking-glasses on the walls of a railway coach; now he was thinking of him as a far-sighted man.

The first page of his paper was fairly alive with fresh and important dispatches, chiefly foreign. At length, after allowing himself to become really interested in a Paris dispatch of some international consequence, he turned his eyes again to the mirror. She was leaning slightly forward, holding the open book in her lap, but reading, with straining eyes, an article in the paper he held.

He calmly turned to the next page and looked leisurely over it. Another glance, quickly taken, showed to him a disappointed frown on the pretty face and a reluctant resumption of novel reading. A few moments later he turned back to the first page, holding the paper in such a position that she could not see, and, full of curiosity, read every line of the foreign news, wondering what had interested her.

Under ordinary circumstances Lorry would have offered her the paper, and thought nothing more of it. With her, however, there was an air that made him hesitate. He felt strangely awkward and inexperienced beside her; precedents did not seem to count. He arose, tossed the paper over the back of the chair as if casting it aside forever, and strolled to the opposite window and looked out for a few moments, jingling his coins carelessly. The jingle of the pieces suggested something else to him. His paper still hung invitingly, upside down, as he had left it, on the chair, and the lady was poring over her novel. As he passed her he drew his right hand from his pocket and a piece of money dropped to the floor at her feet. Then began an embarrassed search for the coin—in the wrong direction, of course. He knew precisely where it had rolled, but purposely looked under the seats on the other side of the car. She drew her skirts aside and assisted in the search. Four different times he saw the little piece of money, but did not pick it up. Finally, laughing awkwardly, he began to search on her side of the car. Whereupon she rose and gave him more room. She became interested in the search and bent over to scan the dark corners with eager eyes. Their heads were very close together more than once. At last she uttered an exclamation, and her hand went to the floor in triumph. They arose together, flushed and smiling. She had the coin in her hand.

“I have it,” she said, gaily, a delicious foreign tinge to the words.

“I thank you—” he began, holding out his hand as if in a dream of ecstacy, but her eyes had fallen momentarily on the object of their search.

“Oh!” she exclaimed, the prettiest surprise in the world coming into her face. It was a coin from her faraway homeland, and she was betrayed into the involuntary exclamation. Instantly, however, she regained her composure and dropped the piece into his outstretched hand, a proud flush mounting to her cheek, a look of cold reserve to her eyes. He had, hoped she would offer some comment on what she must have considered a strange coincidence, but he was disappointed. He wondered if she even heard him say:

“I am sorry to have troubled you.”

She had resumed her seat, and, to him, there seemed a thousand miles between them. Feeling decidedly uncomfortable and not a little abashed, he left her and strode to the door. Again a mirror gave him a thrill. This time it was the glass in the car’s end. He had taken but a half dozen steps when the brown head was turned slyly and a pair of interested eyes looked after him. She did not know that he could see her, so he had the satisfaction of observing that pretty, puzzled face plainly until he passed through the door.

Grenfall had formed many chance acquaintances during his travels, sometimes taking risks and liberties that were refreshingly bold. He had seldom been repulsed, strange to say, and as he went to his section dizzily, he thought of the good fortune that had been his in other attempts, and asked himself why it had not occurred to him to make the same advances in the present instance. Somehow she was different. There was that strange dignity, that pure beauty, that imperial manner, all combining to forbid the faintest thought of familiarity.

He was more than astonished at himself for having tricked her a few moments before into a perfectly natural departure from indifference. She had been so reserved and so natural that he looked back and asked himself what had happened to flatter his vanity except a passing show of interest. With this, he smiled and recalled similar opportunities in days gone by, all of which had been turned to advantage and had resulted in amusing pastimes. And here was a pretty girl with an air of mystery about her, worthy of his best efforts, but toward whom he had not dared to turn a frivolous eye.

He took out the coin and leaned back in his chair, wondering where it came from. “In any case,” he thought, “it’ll make a good pocket-piece and some day I’ll find some idiot who knows more about geography than I do.” Mr. Lorry’s own ideas of geography were jumbled and vague—as if he had got them by studying the labels on his hat-box. He knew the places he had been to, and he recognized a new country by the annoyances of the customs house, but beyond this his ignorance was complete. The coin, so far as he knew, might have come from any one of a hundred small principalities scattered about the continent. Yet it bothered him a little that he could not tell which one. He was more than curious about a very beautiful young woman—in fact, he was, undeniably interested in her. He pleasantly called himself an “ass” to have his head turned by a pretty face, a foreign accent and an insignificant coin, and yet he was fascinated.

Before the train reached St. Louis he made up his mind to change cars there and go to Washington with her. It also occurred to him that he might go on to New York if the spell lasted. During the day he telegraphed ahead for accommodations; and when the flyer arrived in St. Louis that evening he hurriedly attended to the transferring and rechecking of his baggage, bought a new ticket, and dined. At eight he was in the station, and at 8:15 he passed her in the aisle. She was standing in her stateroom door, directing her maid. He saw a look of surprise flit across her face as he passed. He slept soundly that night, and dreamed that he was crossing the ocean with her.

At breakfast he saw her, but if she saw him it was when he was not looking at her. Once he caught Uncle Caspar staring at him through his monocle, which dropped instantly from his eye in the manner that is always self-explanatory. She had evidently called the uncle’s attention to him, but was herself looking sedately from the window when Lorry unfortunately spoiled the scrutiny. His spirits took a furious bound with the realization that she had deigned to honor him by recognition, if only to call attention to him because he possessed a certain coin.

Once the old gentleman asked him the time of day and set his watch according to the reply. In Ohio the manservant scowled at him because he involuntarily stared after his mistress as she paced the platform while the train waited at a station. Again, in Ohio, they met in the vestibule, and he was compelled to step aside to allow her to pass. He did not feel particularly jubilant over this meeting; she did not even glance at him.

Lorry realized that his opportunities were fast disappearing, and that he did not seem to be any nearer meeting her than when they started. He had hoped to get Uncle Caspar into a conversation and then use him, but Uncle Caspar was as distant as an iceberg. “If there should be a wreck,” Grenfall caught himself thinking, “then my chance would come; but I don’t see how Providence is going to help me in any other way.”

Near the close of the day, after they left St. Louis, the train began to wind through the foothills of the Alleghenies. Bellaire, Grafton and other towns were left behind, and they were soon whirling up the steep mountain, higher and higher, through tunnel after tunnel, nearer and nearer to Washington every minute. As they were pulling out of a little mining town built on the mountain side, a sudden jar stopped the train. There was some little excitement and a scramble for information. Some part of the engine was disabled, and it would be necessary to replace, it before the “run” could proceed.

Lorry strolled up to the crowd of passengers who were watching the engineer and fireman at work. A clear, musical voice, almost in his ear, startled him, for he knew to whom it belonged. She addressed the conductor, who, impatient and annoyed, stood immediately behind him.

“How long are we to be delayed?” she asked. Just two minutes before this same conductor had responded most ungraciously to a simple question Lorry had asked and had gone so far as to instruct another inquisitive traveler to go to a warmer climate because he persisted in asking for information which could not be given except by a clairvoyant. But now he answered in most affable tones: “We’ll be here for thirty minutes, at least, Miss—perhaps longer.” She walked away, after thanking him, and Grenfall looked at his watch.

Off the main street of the town ran little lanes leading to the mines below. They all ended at the edge of a steep declivity. There was a drop of almost four hundred feet straight into the valley below. Along the sides of this valley were the entrances to the mines. Above, on the ledge, was the machinery for lifting the ore to the high ground on which stood the town and railroad yards.

Down one of these streets walked the young lady, curiously interested in all about her. She seemed glad to escape from the train and its people, and she hurried along, the fresh spring wind blowing her hair from beneath her cap, the ends of her long coat fluttering.

Lorry stood on the platform watching her; then he lighted a cigarette and followed. He had a vague feeling that she ought not to be alone with all the workmen. She started to come back before he reached her, however, and he turned again toward the station. Then he heard a sudden whistle, and a minute later from the end of the street he saw the train pulling out. Lorry had rather distinguished himself in college as a runner, and instinctively he dashed up the street, reaching the tracks just in time to catch the railing of the last coach. But there he stopped and stood with thumping heart while the coaches slid smoothly up the track, leaving him behind. He remembered he was not the only one left, and he panted and smiled. It occurred to him—when it was too late—that he might have got on the train and pulled the rope or called the conductor, but that was out of the question now. After all, it might not be such a merry game to stay in that filthy little town; it did not follow that she would prove friendly.

A few moments later she appeared—wholly unconscious of what had happened. A glance down the track and her face was the picture of despair.

Then she saw him coming toward her with long strides, flushed and excited. Regardless of appearances, conditions or consequences, she hurried to meet him.

“Where is the train?” she gasped, as the distance between them grew short, her blue eyes seeking his beseechingly, her hands clasped.

“It has gone.”

“Gone? And we—we are left?”

He nodded, delighted by the word “we.”

“The conductor said thirty minutes; it has been but twenty,” she cried, half tearfully, half angrily, looking at her watch. “Oh, what shall I do?” she went on, distractedly. He had enjoyed the sweet, despairing tones, but this last wail called for manly and instant action.

“Can we catch the train? We must! I will give one thousand dollars. I must catch it.” She had placed her gloved hand against a telegraph pole to steady her trembling, but her face was resolute, imperious, commanding.

She was ordering him to obey as she would have commanded a slave. In her voice there was authority, in her eye there was fear. She could control the one but not the other.

“We cannot catch the flyer. I want to catch it as much as you and”—here he straightened himself—”I would add a thousand to yours.” He hesitated a moment-thinking. “There is but one way, and no time to lose.”

With this he turned and ran rapidly toward the little depot and telegraph office.

CHAPTER II

TWO STRANGERS IN A COACH

Lorry wasted very little time. He dashed into the depot and up to the operator’s window.

“What’s the nearest station east of here?”

“P——,” leisurely answered the agent, in some surprise.

“How far is it?”

“Four miles.”

“Telegraph ahead and hold the train that just left here.”

“The train don’t stop there.”

“It’s got to stop there—or there’ll be more trouble than this road has had since it began business. The conductor pulled out and left two of his passengers—gave out wrong information, and he’ll have to hold his train there or bring her back here. If you don’t send that order I’ll report you as well as the conductor.” Grenfall’s manner was commanding. The agent’s impression was that he was important that he had a right to give orders. But he hesitated.

“There’s no way for you but to get to P—— anyway,” he said, while turning the matter over in his mind.

“You stop that train! I’ll get there inside of twenty minutes. Now, be quick! Wire them to hold her—or there’ll be an order from headquarters for some ninety-day lay-offs.” The agent stared at him; then turned to his instrument, and the message went forward. Lorry rushed out. On the platform he nearly ran over the hurrying figure in the tan coat.

“Pardon me. I’ll explain things in a minute,” he gasped, and dashed away. Her troubled eyes blinked with astonishment.

At the end of the platform stood a mountain coach, along the sides of which was printed in yellow letters: “Happy Springs.” The driver was climbing up to his seat and the cumbersome trap was empty.

“Want to make ten dollars?” cried Grenfall.

“What say?” demanded the driver, half falling to the ground.

“Get me to P—— inside of twenty minutes, and I’ll give you ten dollars. Hurry up! Answer!”

“Yes, but, you see, I’m hired to—”

“Oh, that’s all right! You’ll never make money easier. Can you get us there in twenty minutes?”

“It’s four mile, pardner, and not very good road, either. Pile in, and we’ll make it er kill old Hip and Jim. Miss the train?”

“Get yourself ready for a race with an express train and don’t ask questions. Kill ’em both if you have to. I’ll be back in a second!”

Back to the station he tore. She was standing near the door, looking up the track miserably. Already night was falling. Men were lighting the switch lanterns and the mountains were turning into great dark shadows.

“Come quickly; I have a wagon out here.”

Resistlessly she was hurried along and fairly shoved through the open door of the odd-looking coach. He was beside her on the seat in an instant, and her bewildered ears heard him say:

“Drive like the very deuce!” Then the door slammed, the driver clattered up to his seat, and the horses were off with a rush.

“Where are we going?” she demanded, sitting very straight and defiant.

“After that train—I’ll tell you all about it when I get my breath. This is to be the quickest escape from a dilemma on record—providing it is an escape.” By this time they were bumping along the flinty road at a lively rate, jolting about on the seat in a most disconcerting manner. After a few long, deep breaths he told her how the ride in the Springs hack had been conceived and of the arrangement he had made with the despatcher. He furthermore acquainted her with the cause of his being left when he might have caught the train.

“Just as I reached the track, out of breath but rejoicing, I remembered having seen you on that side street, and knew that you would be left. It would have been heartless to leave you here without protection, so I felt it my duty to let the train go and help you out of a very ugly predicament.”

“How can I ever repay you?” she murmured. “It was so good and so thoughtful of you. Oh, I should have died had I been left here alone. Do you not think my uncle will miss me and have the train sent back?” she went on sagely.

“That’s so!” he exclaimed, somewhat disconcerted. “But I don’t know, either. He may not miss you for a long time, thinking you are in some other car, you know. That could easily happen,” triumphantly.

“Can this man get us to the next station in time?” she questioned, looking at the black mountains and the dense foliage. It was now quite dark.

“If he doesn’t bump us to death before we get half way there. He’s driving like the wind.”

“You must let me pay half his bill,” she said, decidedly, from the dark corner in which she was huddling.

He could find no response to this peremptory request.

“The road is growing rougher. If you will allow me to make a suggestion, I think you will see its wisdom. You can escape a great deal of ugly jostling if you will take hold of my arm and cling to it tightly. I will brace myself with this strap. I am sure it will save you many hard bumps.”

Without a word she moved to his side and wound her strong little arm about his big one.

“I had thought of that,” she said, simply. “Thank you.” Then, after a moment, while his heart thumped madly: “Had it occurred to you that after you ran so hard you might have climbed aboard the train and ordered the conductor to stop it for me?”

“I—I never thought of that?” he cried, confusedly.

“Please do not think me ungrateful. You have been very good to me, a stranger. One often thinks afterward of things one might have done, don’t you know? You did the noblest when you inconvenienced yourself for me. What trouble I have made for you.” She said this so prettily that he came gaily from the despondency into which her shrewdness, bordering on criticism, had thrown him. He knew perfectly well that she was questioning his judgment and presence of mind, and, the more he thought of it, the more transparent became the absurdity of his action.

“It has been no trouble,” he floundered “An adventure like this is worth no end of—er—inconvenience, as you call it. I’m sure I must have lost my head completely, and I am ashamed of myself. How much anxiety I could have saved you had I been possessed of an ounce of brains!”

“Hush! I will not allow you to say that. You would have me appear ungrateful when I certainly am not. Ach, how he is driving! Do you think it dangerous?” she cried, as the hack gave two or three wild lurches, throwing him into the corner, and the girl half upon him.

“Not in the least,” he gasped, the breath knocked out of his body. Just the same, he was very much alarmed. It was as dark as pitch outside and in, and he could not help wondering how near the edge of the mountain side they were running. A false move of the flying horses and they might go rolling to the bottom of the ravine, hundreds of feet below. Still, he must not let her see his apprehension. “This fellow is considered the best driver in the mountains,” he prevaricated. Just then he remembered having detected liquor on the man’s breath as he closed the door behind him. Perhaps he was intoxicated!

“Do you know him?” questioned the clear voice, her lips close to his ear, her warm body pressing against his.

“Perfectly. He is no other than Lighthorse Jerry, the king of stage drivers.” In the darkness he smiled to himself maliciously.

“Oh, then we need feel no alarm,” she said, reassured, not knowing that Jerry existed only in the yellow-backed novel her informant had read when a boy.

There was such a roaring and clattering that conversation became almost impossible. When either spoke it was with the mouth close to the ear of the other. At such times Grenfall could feel her breath on his cheek, Her sweet voice went tingling to his toes with every word she uttered. He was in a daze, out of which sung the mad wish that he might clasp her in his arms, kiss her, and then go tumbling down the mountain. She trembled in the next fierce lurches, but gave forth no complaint. He knew that she was in terror but too brave to murmur.

Unable to resist, he released the strap to which he had clung so grimly, and placed his strong, firm hand encouragingly over the little one that gripped his arm with the clutch of death. It was very dark and very lonely, too!

“Oh!” she cried, as his hand clasped hers. “You must hold to the strap.”

“It is broken!” he lied, gladly, “There is no danger. See! My hand does not tremble, does it? Be calm! It cannot be much farther.”

“Will it not be dreadful if the conductor refuses to stop?” she cried, her hand resting calmly beneath its protector. He detected a tone of security in her voice.

“But he will stop! Your uncle will see to that, even if the operator fails.”

“My uncle will kill him if he does not stop or come back for me,” she said, complacently.

“I was mot wrong,” thought Grenfall; “he looks like a duelist. Who the devil are they, anyhow?” Then aloud: “At this rate we’d be able to beat the train to Washington in a straight-away race. Isn’t it a delightfully wild ride?”

“I have acquired a great deal of knowledge in America, but this is the first time I have heard your definition of delight. I agree that it is wild.”

For some moments there was silence in the noisy conveyance. Outside, the crack of the driver’s whip, his hoarse cries, and the nerve-destroying crash of the wheels produced impressions of a mighty storm rather than of peace and pleasure.

“I am curious to know where you obtained the coin you lost in the car yesterday,” she said at last, as if relieving her mind of a question that had been long subdued.

“The one you so kindly found for me?” he asked, procrastinatingly.

“Yes. They are certainly rare in this country.”

“I never saw a coin like it until after I had seen you,” he confessed. He felt her arm press his a little tighter, and there was a quick movement of her head which told him, dark as it was, that she was trying to see his face and that her blue eyes were wide with something more than terror.

“I do not understand,” she exclaimed.

“I obtained the coin from a sleeping-car porter who said some one gave it to him and told him to have a ‘high time’ with it,” he explained in her ear.

“He evidently did not care for the ‘high time,’” she said, after a moment. He would have given a fortune for one glimpse of her face at that instant.

“I think he said it would be necessary to go to Europe in order to follow the injunction of the donor. As I am more likely to go to Europe than he, I relieved him of the necessity and bought his right to a ‘high time.’”

There was a long pause, during which she attempted to withdraw herself from his side, her little fingers struggling timidly beneath the big ones.

“Are you a collector of coins?” she asked at length, a perceptible coldness in her voice.

“No. I am considered a dispenser of coins. Still, I rather like the idea of possessing this queer bit of money as a pocket-piece. I intend to keep it forever, and let it descend as an heirloom to the generations that follow me,” he said, laughingly. “Why are you so curious about it?”

“Because it comes from the city and country in which I live,” she responded. “If you were in a land far from your own would you not be interested in anything—even a coin—that reminded you of home?”

“Especially if I had not seen one of its kind since leaving home,” he replied, insinuatingly.

“Oh, but I have seen many like it. In my purse there are several at this minute.”

“Isn’t it strange that this particular coin should have reminded you of home?”

“You have no right to question me, sir,” she said, coldly, drawing away, only to be lurched back again. In spite of herself she laughed audibly.

“I beg your pardon,” he said, tantalizingly.

“When did he give it you?”

“Who?”

“The porter, sir.”

“You have no right to question me,” he said.

“Oh!” she gasped. “I did not mean to be inquisitive.”

“But I grant the right. He gave it me inside of two hours after I first entered the car.”

“At Denver?”

“How do you know I got on at Denver?’

“Why, you passed me in the aisle with your luggage. Don’t you remember?”

Did he remember! His heart almost turned over with the joy of knowing that she had really noticed and remembered him. Involuntarily his glad fingers closed down upon the gloved hand that lay beneath them.

“I believe I do remember, now that you speak of it,” he said, in a stifled voice. “You were standing at a window?”

“Yes; and I saw you kissing those ladies goodby, too. Was one of them your wife, or were they all your sisters? I have wondered.”

“They—they were—cousins,” he informed her, confusedly, recalling an incident that had been forgotten. He had kissed Mary Lyons and Edna Burrage—but their brothers were present. “A foolish habit, isn’t it?”

“I do not know. I have no grown cousins,” she replied, demurely. “You Americans have such funny customs, though. Where I live, no gentleman would think of pressing a lady’s hand until it pained her. Is it necessary?” In the question there was a quiet dignity, half submerged in scorn, so pointed, so unmistakable that he flushed, turned cold with mortification, and hastily removed the amorous fingers.

“I crave your pardon. It is such a strain to hold myself and you against the rolling of this wagon that I unconsciously gripped your hand harder than I knew. You—you will not misunderstand my motive?” he begged, fearful lest he had offended her by his ruthlessness.

“I could not misunderstand something that does not exist,” she said, simply, proudly.

“By Jove, she’s beyond comparison!” he thought.

“You have explained, and I am sorry I spoke as I did. I shall not again forget how much I owe you.”

“Your indebtedness, if there be one, does not deprive you of the liberty to speak to me as you will. You could not say anything unjust without asking my forgiveness, and when you do that you more than pay the debt. It is worth a great deal to me to hear you say that you owe something to me, for I am only too glad to be your creditor. If there is a debt, you shall never pay it; it is too pleasant an account to be settled with ‘you’re welcome.’ If you insist that you owe much to me, I shall refuse to cancel the debt, and allow it to draw interest forever.”

“What a financier!” she cried. “That jest yeas worthy of a courtier’s deepest flattery. Let me say that I am proud to owe my gratitude to you. You will not permit it to grow less.”

“That was either irony or the prettiest speech a woman ever uttered,” he said, warmly. “I also am curious about something. You were reading over my shoulder in the observation car—” “I was not!” she exclaimed, indignantly. “How did you know that?” she inconsistently went on.

“You forget the mirror in the opposite side of the car.”

“Ach, now I am offended.”

“With a poor old mirror? For shame! Yet, in the name of our American glass industry, I ask your forgiveness. It shall not happen again. You will admit that you were trying to read over my shoulder. Thanks for that immutable nod. Well, I am curious to know what you were so eager to read.”

“Since you presume to believe the mirror instead of me, I will tell you. There was a despatch on the first page that interested me deeply.”

“I believe I thought as much at the time. Oh, confound this road!” For half a mile or more the road had been fairly level, but, as the ejaculation indicates, a rough place had been reached. He was flung back in the corner violently, his head coming in contact with a sharp projection of some kind. The pain was almost unbearable, but it was eased by the fact that she had involuntarily thrown her arm across his chest, her hand grasping his shoulder spasmodically.

“Oh, we shall be killed!” she half shrieked. “Can you not stop him? This is madness—madness!”

“Pray be calm! I was to blame, for I had become careless. He is earning his money, that’s all. It was not stipulated in the contract that he was to consider the comfort of his passengers.” Grenfall could feel himself turn pale as something warm began to trickle down his neck. “Now tell me which despatch it was. I read all of them.”

“You did? Of what interest could they have been?”

“Curiosity does not recognize reason.”

“You read every one of them?”

“Assuredly.”

“Then I shall grant you the right to guess which interested me the most. You Americans delight in puzzles, I am told.”

“Now, that is unfair.”

“So it is. Did you read the despatch from Constantinople?” Her arm fell to her side suddenly as if she had just realized its position.

“The one that told of the French ambassador’s visit to the Sultan?”

“Concerning the small matter of a loan of some millions—yes. Well, that was of interest to me inasmuch as the loan, if made, will affect my country.”

“Will you tell me what country you are from?”

“I am from Graustark.”

“Yes; but I don’t remember where that is.”

“Is it possible that your American schools do not teach geography? Ours tell us where the United States are located.”

“I confess ignorance,” he admitted.

“Then I shall insist that you study a map. Graustark is small, but I am as proud of it as you are of this great broad country that reaches from ocean to ocean. I can scarcely wait until I again see our dear crags and valleys, our rivers and ever-blue skies, our plains and our towns. I wonder if you worship your country as I love mine.”

“From the tenor of your remarks, I judge that you have been away from home for a long time,” he volunteered.

“We have seen something of Asia, Australia, Mexico and the United States since we left Edelweiss, six months ago. Now we are going home—home!” She uttered the word so lovingly, so longingly, so tenderly, that he envied the homeland.

There was a long break in the conversation, both evidently wrapped in thought which could not be disturbed by the whirl of the coach. He was wondering how he could give her up, now that she had been tossed into his keeping so strangely. She was asking herself over and over again how so thrilling an adventure would end.

They were sore and fatigued with the strain on nerve and flesh. It was an experience never to be forgotten, this romantic race over the wild mountain road, the result still in doubt. Ten minutes ago—strangers; now—friends at least, neither knowing the other. She was admiring him for his generalship, his wonderful energy; he was blessing the fate that had come to his rescue when hope was almost dead. He could scarcely realize that he was awake. Could it be anything but a vivid fancy from which he was to awaken and find himself alone in his berth, the buzzing, clacking carwheels piercing his ears with sounds so unlike those that had been whispered into them by a voice, sweet and maddening, from out the darkness of a dreamland cab?

“Surely we must be almost at the end of this awful ride,” she moaned, yielding completely to the long suppressed alarm. “Every bone in my body aches. What shall we do if they have not held the train?”

“Send for an undertaker,” he replied grimly, seeing policy in jest. They were now ascending an incline, bumping over boulders, hurtling through treacherous ruts and water-washed holes, rolling, swinging, jerking, crashing. “You have been brave all along; don’t give up now. It is almost over. You’ll soon be with your friends.”

“How can I thank you”’ she cried, gripping his arm once more. Again his hand dropped upon hers and closed gently.

“I wish that I could do a thousand times as much for you,” he said, thrillingly, her disheveled hair touching his face so close were his lips. “Ah, the lights of the town!” he cried an instant later. “Look!”

He held her so that she could peer through the rattling glass window. Close at hand, higher up the steep, many lights were twinkling ling against the blackness.

Almost before they realized how near they were to the lights, the horses began to slacken their speed, a moment later coming to a standstill. The awful ride was over.

“The train! the train!” she cried, in ecstacy. “Here, on the other side. Thank heaven!”

He could not speak for the joyful pride that distended his heart almost to bursting. The coach door flew open, and Light-horse Jerry yelled:

“Here y’are! I made her!”

“I should say you did!” exclaimed Grenfall, climbing out and drawing her after him gently. “Here’s your ten.”

“I must send you something, too, my good fellow,” cried the lady. “What is your address—quick?”

“William Perkins, O——, West Virginny, ma’am.”

Lorry was dragging her toward the cars as the driver completed the sentence. Several persons were running down the platform, dimly lighted from the string of car windows She found time to pant as they sped along:

“He was not Light-horse Jerry, at all!”

CHAPTER III

MISS GUGGENSLOCKER

He laughed, looking down into her serious upturned face. A brief smile of understanding flitted across her lips as she broke away from him and threw herself into the arms of tall, excited Uncle Caspar. The conductor, several trainmen and a few eager passengers came up, the former crusty and snappish.

“Well, get aboard!” he growled. “We can’t wait all night.”

The young lady looked up quickly, her sensitive face cringing beneath the rough command. Lorry stepped instantly to the conductor’s side, shook his finger vigorously under his nose, and exclaimed in no uncertain tones:

“Now, that’s enough from you! If I hear another word out of you, I’ll make you sweat blood before tomorrow morning. Understand, my friend.”

“Aw, who are you?” demanded the conductor, belligerently.

“You’ll learn that soon enough. After this you’ll have sense enough to find out whom you are talking to before you open that mouth of yours. Not another word!” Mr. Grenfall Lorry was not president of the road, nor was he in any way connected with it, but his well assumed air of authority caused the trainman’s ire to dissolve at once.

“Excuse me, sir. I’ve been worried to death on this run. I meant no offence. That old gentleman has threatened to kill me. Just now he took out his watch and said if I did not run back for his niece in two minutes he’d call me out and run me through. I’ve been nearly crazy here. For the life of me, I don’t see how you happened to be—”

“Oh, that’s all right. Let’s be off,” cried Lorry, who had fallen some distance behind his late companion and her uncle. Hurrying after them, he reached her side in time to assist her in mounting the car steps.

“Thank you,” smiling down upon him bewitchingly. At the top of the steps she was met by her aunt, behind whom stood the anxious man-servant and the maid. Into the coach she was drawn by the relieved old lady, who was critically inspecting her personal appearance when Lorry and the foreigner entered.

“Ach, it was so wild and exhilarating, Aunt Yvonne,” the girl was saying, her eyes sparkling. She stood straight and firm, her chin in the air, her hands in those of her aunt. The little traveling cap was on the side of her head, her hair was loose and very much awry, strands straying here, curls blowing there in utter confusion. Lorry fairly gasped with admiration for the loveliness that would not be vanquished.

“We came like the wind! I shall never, never forge: it,” she said.

“But how could you have remained there, child? Tell me how it happened. We have been frantic,” said her aunt, half in English, half in German.

“Not now, dear Aunt Yvonne. See my hair! What a fright I must be! Fortunate man, your hair cannot be so unruly as mine. Oh!” The exclamation was one of alarm. In an instant she was at his side, peering with terrified eyes at the bloodstains on his neck and face. “It is blood! You are hurt! Uncle Caspar, Hedrick—quick! Attend him! Come to my room at once. You are suffering. Minna, find bandages!”

She dragged him to the door of her section before he could interpose a remonstrance.

“It is nothing—a mere scratch. Bumped my head against the side of the coach. Please don’t worry about it; I can care for myself. Really, it doesn’t—”

“But it does! It has bled terribly. Sit there! Now, Hedrick, some water.”

Hedrick rushed off and was back in a moment with a basin of water, a sponge and a towel, and before Grenfall fully knew what was happening, the man-servant was bathing his head, the others looking on anxiously, the young lady apprehensively, her hands clasped before her as she bent over to inspect the wound above his ear.

“It is quite an ugly cut,” said Uncle Caspar, critically. “Does it pain you, sir?”

“Oh, not a great deal,” answered Lorry, closing his eyes comfortably. It was all very pleasant, he thought.

“Should it not have stitches, Uncle Caspar?” asked the sweet, eager voice.

“I think not. The flow is staunched. If the gentleman will allow Hedrick to trim the hair away for a plaster and then bandage it I think the wound will give him no trouble.” The old man spoke slowly and in very good English.

“Really, Uncle, is it not serious?”

“No, no,” interposed Grenfall Lorry. “I knew it was a trifle. You cannot break an American’s head. Let me go to my own section and I’ll be ready to present myself, as good as new, in ten minutes.”

“You must let Hedrick bandage your head,” she insisted. “Go with him, Hedrick.”

Grenfall arose and started toward his section, followed by Hedrick.

“I trust you were not hurt during that reckless ride,” he said, more as a question, stopping in the aisle to look back at her.

“I should have been a mass of bruises, gashes and lumps had it not been for one thing,” she said, a faint flush coming to her cheek, although her eyes looked unfalteringly into his. “Will you join us in the dining car? I will have a place prepared for you at our table.”

“Thank you. You are very good. I shall join you as soon as I am presentable.”

“We are to be honored, sir,” said the old gentleman, but in such a way that Grenfall had a distinct feeling that it was he who was to be honored. Aunt Yvonne smiled graciously, and he took his departure. While Hedrick was dressing the jagged little cut, Grenfall complacently surveyed the patient in the mirror opposite, and said to himself a hundred times: “You lucky dog! It was worth forty gashes like this. By Jove, she’s divine!”

In a fever of eager haste he bathed and attired himself for dinner, the imperturbable Hedrick assisting. One query filled the American’s mind: “I wonder if I am to sit beside her.” And then: “I have sat beside her! There can never again be such delight!”

It was seven o’clock before his rather unusual toilet was completed. “See if they have gone to the diner, Hedrick,” he said to the man-servant, who departed ceremoniously.

“I don’t know why he should be so damned polite,” observed Lorry, gazing wonderingly after him. “I’m not a king. That reminds me. I must introduce myself. She doesn’t know me from Adam.”

Hedrick returned and announced that they had just gone to the dining car and were awaiting him there. He hurried to the diner and made his way to their table. Uncle Caspar and his niece were facing him as he came up between the tables, and he saw, with no little regret, that he was to sit beside the aunt—directly opposite the girl, however. She smiled up at him as he stood before them, bowing. He saw the expression of inquiry in those deep, liquid eyes of violet as their gaze wandered over his hair.

“Your head? I see no bandage,” she said, reproachfully.

“There is a small plaster and that is all. Only heroes may have dangerous wounds,” he said, laughingly.

“Is heroism in America measured by the number of stitches or the size of the plaster?” she asked, pointedly. “In my country it is a joy, and not a calamity. Wounds are the misfortune of valor. Pray, be seated, Mr. Lorry is it not?” she said, pronouncing it quaintly.

He sat down rather suddenly on hearing her utter his name. How had she learned it? Not a soul on the train knew it, he was sure.

“I am Caspar Guggenslocker. Permit me, Mr. Lorry, to present my wife and my niece, Miss Guggenslocker,” said the uncle, more gracefully than he had ever heard such a thing uttered before.

In a daze, stunned by the name,—Guggenslocker, mystified over their acquaintance with his own when he had been foiled at every fair attempt to learn theirs, Lorry could only mumble his acknowledgments. In all his life he had never lost command of himself as at this moment. Guggenslocker! He could feel the dank sweat of disappointment starting on his brow. A butcher,—a beer maker,—a cobbler,—a gardener,—all synonyms of Guggenslocker. A sausage manufacturer’s niece—Miss Guggenslocker! He tried to glance unconcernedly at her as he took up his napkin, but his eyes wavered helplessly. She was looking serenely at him, yet he fancied he saw a shadow of mockery in her blue eyes.

“If you were a novel writer, Mr. Lorry, what manner of heroine would you choose?” she asked, with a smile so tantalizing that he understood instinctively why she was reviving a topic once abandoned. His confusion was increased. Her uncle and aunt were regarding him calmly,—expectantly, he imagined.

“I—I have no ambition to be a novel writer,” he said, “so I have not made a study of heroines.”

“But you would have an ideal,” she persisted.

“I’m sure I—I don’t—that is, she would not necessarily be a heroine. Unless, of course, it would require heroism to pose as an ideal for such a prosaic fellow as I.”

“To begin with, you would call her Clarabel Montrose or something equally as impossible. You know the name of a heroine in a novel must be euphonious. That is an exacting rule.” It was an open taunt, and he could see that she was enjoying his discomfiture. It aroused his indignation and his wits.

“I would first give my hero a distinguished name. No matter what the heroine’s name might be—pretty or otherwise—I could easily change it to his in the last chapter.” She flushed beneath his now bright, keen eyes and the ready, though unexpected retort. Uncle Caspar placed his napkin to his lips and coughed. Aunt Yvonne studiously inspected her bill of fare. “No matter what you call a rose, it is always sweet,” he added, meaningly.

At this she laughed good-naturedly. He marveled at her white teeth and red lips. A rose, after all. Guggenslocker, rose; rose, not Guggenslocker. No, no! A rose only! He fancied he caught a sly look of triumph in her uncle’s swift glance toward her. But Uncle Caspar was not a rose—he was Guggenslocker. Guggenslocker—butcher! Still, he did not look the part—no, indeed. That extraordinary man a butcher, a gardener, a—and Aunt Yvonne? Yet they were Guggenslockers.

“Here is the waiter,” the girl observed, to his relief. “I am famished after my pleasant drive. It was so bracing, was it not Mr. Grenfall Lorry?”

“Give me a mountain ride always as an appetizer,” he said, obligingly, and so ended the jest about a name.

The orders for the dinner were given and the quartette sat back in their chairs to await the coming of the soup. Grenfall was still wondering how she had learned his name, and was on the point of asking several times during the conventional discussion of the weather, the train and the mountains. He considerately refrained, however, unwilling to embarrass her.

“Aunt Yvonne tells me she never expected to see me alive after the station agent telegraphed that we were coming overland in that awful old carriage. The agent at P—— says it is a dangerous road, at the very edge of the mountain. He also increased the composure of my uncle and aunt by telling them that a wagon rolled off yesterday, killing a man, two women and two horses. Dear Aunt Yvonne, how troubled you must have been.”

“I’ll confess there were times when I thought we were rolling down the mountain,” said Lorry, with a relieved shake of the head.

“Sometimes I thought we were soaring through space, whether upward or downwards I could not tell. We never failed to come to earth, though, did we?” she laughingly asked.

“Emphatically! Earth and a little grief,” he said, putting his hand to his head.

“Does it pain you?” she asked, quickly.

“Not in the least. I was merely feeling to see if the cut were still there. Mr—Mr. Guggenslocker, did the conductor object to holding the train?” he asked, remembering what the conductor had told him of the old gentleman’s actions.

“At first, but I soon convinced him that it should be held,” said the other, quietly.

“My husband spoke very harshly to the poor man,” added Aunt Yvonne. “But, I am afraid, Caspar, he did not understand a word you said. You were very much excited.” The sweet old lady’s attempts at English were much more laborious than her husband’s.

“If he did not understand my English, he was very good at guessing,” said her husband, grimly.

“He told me you had threatened to call him out,” ventured the young man.

“Call him out? Ach, a railroad conductor!” exclaimed Uncle Caspar, in fine scorn.

“Caspar, I heard you say that you would call him out,” interposed his wife, with reproving eyes.

“Ach, God! God! I have made a mistake! I see it all! It was the other word I meant—down not out! I intended to call him down, as you Americans say. I hope he will not think I challenged him.” He was very much perturbed.

“I think he was afraid you would,” said Lorry.

“He should have no fear. I could not meet a railroad conductor. Will you please tell him I could not so condescend? Besides, dueling is murder in your country, I am told.”

“It usually is, sir. Much more so than in Europe.” The others looked at him inquiringly. “I mean that in America when two men pull their revolvers and go to shooting at each other, some one is killed—frequently both. In Europe, as I understand it, a scratch with a sword ends the combat.”

“You have been misinformed,” exclaimed Uncle Caspar, his eyebrows elevated.

“Why, Uncle Caspar has fought more duels than he can count,” cried the girl, proudly.

“And has he slain his man every time?” asked Grenfall, smilingly, glancing from one to the other. Aunt Yvonne shot a reproving look at the girl, whose face paled instantly, her eyes going quickly in affright to the face of her uncle.

“God!” Lorry heard the old gentleman mutter. He was looking at his bill of fare, but his eyes were fixed and staring. The card was crumpling between the long, bony fingers. The American realized that a forbidden topic had been touched upon.

“He has fought and he has slain,” he thought as quick as a flash, “He is no butcher, no gardener, no cobbler. That’s certain!”

“Tell us, Uncle Caspar, what you said to the conductor,” cried the young lady, nervously.

“Tell them, Caspar, how alarmed we were,” added soft-voiced Aunt Yvonne. Grenfall was a silent, interested spectator. He somehow felt as if a scene from some tragedy had been reproduced in that briefest of moments. Calmly and composedly, a half smile now in his face, the soldierly Caspar narrated the story of the train’s run from one station to the other.

“We did not miss you until we had almost reached the other station. Then your Aunt Yvonne asked me where you had gone. I told her I had not seen you, but went into the coach ahead to search. You were not there. Then I went on to the dining car. Ach, you were not there. In alarm I returned to our car. Your aunt and I looked everywhere. You were not anywhere. I shall never forget your aunt’s face when she sank into a chair, nor shall I feel again so near like dying as when she suggested that you might have fallen from the train. I sent Hedrick ahead to summon the conductor, but he had hardly left us when the engine whistled sharply and the train began to slow up in a jerky fashion. We were very pale as we looked at each other, for something told us that the stop was unusual. I rushed to the platform meeting Hedrick, who was as much alarmed as I. He said the train had been flagged, and that there must be something wrong. Your aunt came out and told me that she had made a strange discovery.”

Grenfall observed that he was addressing himself exclusively to the young lady.

“She had found that the gentleman in the next section was also missing. While we were standing there in doubt and perplexity, the train came to a standstill, and soon there was shouting on the outside. I climbed down from the car and saw that we were at a little station. The conductor came running toward me excitedly.

“‘Is the young lady in the car?’ he asked.

“‘No. For Heaven’s sake, what have you heard?’I cried.

“‘Then she has been left at O——,’ he exclaimed, and used some very extraordinary American words.

“I then informed him that he should run back for you, first learning that you were alive and well. He said he would be damned if he would—pardon the word, ladies. He was very angry, and said he would give orders to go ahead, but I told him I would demand restitution of his government. He laughed in my face, and then I became shamelessly angry. I said to him:

“‘Sir, I shall call you down—not out, as you have said—and I shall run you through the mill.’

“That was good American talk, sir, was it not, Mr. Lorry? I wanted him to understand me, so I tried to use your very best language. Some gentlemen who are traveling on this train and some very excellent ladies also joined in the demand that the train be held. His despatch from O—— said that you, Mr. Lorry, insisted on having it held for twenty minutes. The conductor insulted you, sir, by saying that you had more—ah, what is it?—gall than any idiot he had ever seen. When he said that, although I did not fully understand that it was a reflection on you, so ignorant am I of your language, I took occasion to tell him that you were a gentleman and a friend of mine. He asked me your name, but, as I did not know it, I could only tell him that he would learn it soon enough. Then he said something which has puzzled me ever since. He told me to close my face. What did he mean by that, Mr. Lorry?”

“Well, Mr. Guggenslocker, that means, in refined American, ‘stop talking,’” said Lorry, controlling a desire to shout.

“Ach, that accounts for his surprise when I talked louder and faster than ever. I did not know what he meant. He said positively he would not wait, but just then a second message came from the other station. I did not know what it was then, but a gentleman told me that it instructed him to hold the train if he wanted to hold his job. Job is situation, is it not? Well, when he read that message he said he would wait just twenty minutes. I asked him to tell me how you were coming to us, but he refused to answer. Your aunt and I went at once to the telegraph man and implored him to tell us the truth, and he said you were coming in a carriage over a very dangerous road. Imagine our feelings when he said some people had been killed yesterday on that very road.

“He said you would have to drive like the—the very devil if you got here in twenty minutes.”

“We did, Uncle Caspar,” interrupted Miss Guggenslocker, naively. “Our driver followed Mr. Lorry’s instructions.”

Mr. Grenfall Lorry blushed and laughed awkwardly. He had been admiring her eager face and expressive eyes during Uncle Caspar’s recital. How sweet her voice when it pronounced his name, how charming the foreign flavor to the words.

“He would not have understood if I had said other things,” he explained, hastily.

“When your aunt and I returned to the train we saw the conductor holding his watch. He said to me: ‘In just three minutes we pull out. If they are not here by that time they can get on the best they know how. I’ve done all I can: I did not say a word, but went to my section and had Hedrick get out my pistols. If the train left before you arrived it would be without its conductor. In the meantime, your Aunt Yvonne was pleading with the wretch. I hastened back to his side with my pistols in my pocket. It was then that I told him to start his train if he dared. That man will never know how close he was to death. One minute passed, and he coolly announced that but one minute was left. I had made up my mind to give him one of my pistols when the time was up, and to tell him to defend himself. It was not to be a duel, for there was nothing regular about it. It was only a question as to whether the train should move. Then came the sound of carriage wheels and galloping horses. Almost before we knew it you were with us. I am so happy that you were not a minute later.”

There was something so cool and grim in the quiet voice, something so determined in those brilliant eyes, that Grenfall felt like looking up the conductor to congratulate him. The dinner was served, and while it was being discussed his fair companion of the drive graphically described the experience of twenty strange minutes in a shackle-down mountain coach. He was surprised to find that she omitted no part, not even the hand clasp or the manner in which she clung to him. His ears burned as he listened to this frank confession, for he expected to hear words of disapproval from the uncle and aunt. His astonishment was increased by their utter disregard of these rather peculiar details. It was then that he realized how trusting she had been, how serenely unconscious of his tender and sudden passion. And had she told her relatives that she had kissed him, he firmly believed they would have smiled approvingly. Somehow the real flavor of romance was stricken from the ride by her candid admissions. What he had considered a romantic treasure was being calmly robbed of its glitter, leaving for his memory the blurr of an adventure in which he had played the part of a gallant gentleman and she a grateful lady. He was beginning to feel ashamed of the conceit that had misled him. Down in his heart he was saying: “I might have known it. I did know it. She is not like other women.” The perfect confidence that dwelt in the rapt faces of the others forced into his wondering mind the impression that this girl could do no wrong.

“And, Aunt Yvonne,” she said, in conclusion, “the luck which you say is mine as birthright asserted itself. I escaped unhurt, while Mr. Lorry alone possesses the pain and unpleasantness of our ride.”

“I possess neither,” he objected. “The pain that you refer to is a pleasure.”

“The pain that a man endures for a woman should always be a pleasure,” said Uncle Caspar smilingly.

“But it could not be a pleasure to him unless the woman considered it a pain,” reasoned Miss Guggenslocker. “He could not feel happy if she did not respect the pain.”

“And encourage it,” supplemented Lorry, drily. “If you do not remind me occasionally that I am hurt, Miss Guggenslocker, I am liable to forget it.” To himself he added: “I’ll never learn how to say it in one breath.”

“If I were not so soon to part from you I should be your physician, and, like all physicians, prolong your ailment interminably,” she said, prettily.

“To my deepest satisfaction,” he said, warmly, not lightly. There was nothing further from his mind than servile flattery, as his rejoinder might imply. “Alas!” he went on, “we no sooner meet than we part. May I ask when you are to sail?”

“On Thursday,” replied Mr. Guggenslocker.

“On the Kaiser Wilhelm der Grosse,” added his niece, a faraway look coming into her eyes.

“We are to stop off one day, tomorrow, in Washington,” said Aunt Yvonne, and the jump that Lorry’s heart gave was so mighty that he was afraid they could see it in his face.

“My uncle has some business to transact in your city, Mr. Lorry. We are to spend tomorrow there and Wednesday in New York. Then we sail. Ach, how I long for Thursday!” His heart sank like lead to the depths from which it had sprung. It required no effort on his part to see that he was alone in his infatuation. Thursday was more to her than his existence; she could forget him and think of Thursday, and when she thought of Thursday, the future, he was but a thing of the past, not even of the present.

“Have you always lived in Washington, Mr. Lorry?” asked Mrs. Guggenslocker.

“All my life,” he replied wishing at that moment that he was homeless and free to choose for himself.

“You Americans live in one city and then in another,” she said. “Now, in our country generation after generation lives and dies in one town. We are not migratory.”

“Mr. Lorry has offended us by not knowing where Graustark is located on the map,” cried the young lady, and he could see the flash of resentment in her eyes.

“Why, my dear sir, Graustark is in—” began Uncle Caspar, but she checked him instantly.

“Uncle Caspar, you are not to tell him. I have recommended that he study geography and discover us for himself. He should be ashamed of his ignorance.”

He was not ashamed, but he mentally vowed that before he was a day older he would find Graustark on the map and would stock his negligent brain with all that history and the encyclopedia had to say of the unknown land. Her uncle laughed, and, to Lorry’s disappointment, obeyed the young lady’s command.

“Shall I study the map of Europe, Asia or Africa?” asked he, and they laughed.

“Study the map of the world,” said Miss Guggenslocker, proudly.

“Edelweiss is the capital?”

“Yes, our home city,—the queen of the crags,” cried she. “You should see Edelweiss, Mr. Lorry. It is of the mountain, the plain and the sky. There are homes in the valley, homes on the mountain side and homes in the clouds.”

“And yours? From what you say it must be above the clouds—in heaven.”

“We are farthest from the clouds, for we live in the green valley, shaded by the white topped mountains. We may, in Edelweiss, have what climate we will. Doctors do not send us on long journeys for our health. They tell us to move up or down the mountain. We have balmy spring, glorious summer, refreshing autumn and chilly winter, just as we like.”

“Ideal! I think you must be pretty well toward the south. You could not have July and January if you were far north.”

“True; yet we have January in July. Study your map. We are discernible to the naked eye,” she said, half ironically.

“I care not if there are but three inhabitants Graustark, all told, it is certainly worthy of a position on any map,” said Lorry, gallantly; and his listeners applauded with patriotic appreciation. “By the way, Mr. Gug—Guggenslocker, you say the conductor asked you for my name and you did not know it. May I ask how you learned it later on?” His curiosity got the better of him, and his courage was increased by the champagne the old gentleman had ordered.

“I did not know your name until my niece told it to me after your arrival in the carriage,” said Uncle Caspar.

“I don’t remember giving it to Miss Guggenslocker at any time,” said Lorry.

“You were not my informant,” she said, demurely.

“Surely you did not guess it.”

“Oh, no, indeed. I am no mind reader.”

“My own name was the last thing you could have read in my mind, in that event, for I have not thought of it in three days.”

She was sitting with her elbows on the table, her chin in her hands, a dreamy look in her blue eyes.

“You say you obtained that coin from the porter on the Denver train?”

“Within two hours after I got aboard.”

“Well, that coin purchased your name for me,” she said, calmly, candidly. He gasped.

“You—you don’t mean that you—” he stammered.

“You see, Mr. Lorry, I wanted to know the name of a man who came nearest my ideal of what an American should be. As soon as I saw you I knew that you were the American as I had grown to know him through the books,—big, strong, bold and comely. That is why I bought your name of the porter. I shall always say that I know the name of an ideal American,—Grenfall Lorry.”

The ideal American was not unmoved. He was in a fever of fear and happiness,—fear because he thought she was jesting, happiness because he hoped she was not. He laughed awkwardly, absolutely unable to express himself in words. Her frank statement staggered him almost beyond the power of recovery.

There was joy in the knowledge that she had been attracted to him at first sight, but there was bitterness in the thought that he had come to her notice as a sort of specimen, the name of which she had sought as a botanist would look for the name of an unknown flower.

“I—I am honored,” he at last managed to say, his eyes gleaming with embarrassment. “I trust you have not found your first judgment a faulty one.” He felt very foolish after this flat remark.

“I have remembered your name,” she said, graciously. His heart swelled.

“There are a great many better Americans than I,” he said. “You forget our president and our statesmen.”

“I thought they were mere politicians.”

Grenfall Lorry, idealized, retired to his berth that night, his head whirling with the emotions inspired by this strange, beautiful woman. How lovely, how charming, how naive, how queenly, how indifferent, how warm, how cold—how everything that puzzled him was she. His last waking thought was:

“Guggenslocker! An angel with a name like that!”

CHAPTER IV

THE INVITATION EXTENDED

They were called by the porter early the next morning. The train was pulling into Washington, five hours late. Grenfall wondered, as he dressed, whether fortune would permit him to see much of her during her brief day in the capital. He dreamed of a drive over the avenues, a trip to the monument, a visit to the halls of congress, an inspection of public buildings, a dinner at his mother’s home, luncheon at the Ebbitt, and other attentions which might give to him every moment of her day in Washington. But even as he dreamed, he was certain that his hopes could not be gratified.

After the train had come to a standstill he could hear the rustle of her garments in the next compartment. Then he heard her sweep into the passage, greet her uncle and aunt, utter a few commands to the maid, and, while he was adjusting his collar and necktie, pass from the car. No man ever made quicker time in dressing than did Lorry. She could hardly have believed him ideal had she seen his scowling face or heard the words that hissed through his impatient teeth.

“She’ll get away, and that’ll be the end of it,” he growled, seizing his traps and rushing from the train two minutes after her departure. The porter attempted to relieve him of his bags on the platform, but he brushed him aside and was off toward the station.

“Nice time for you, to call a man, you idiot,” was his parting shot for the porter, forgetting of course, that the foreigners had been called at the same time. With eyes intent on the crowd ahead, he plunged along, seeing nobody in his disappointed flight. “I’ll never forgive myself if I miss her,” he was wailing to himself. She was not to be seen in the waiting rooms, so he rushed to the sidewalk.

“Baggage transferred?”

“Cab, sir?”

“Go to the devil—yes, here! Take these traps and these checks and rush my stuff to No.——, W—— Avenue. Trunks just in on B.& O.,” he cried, tossing his burdens to a transfer man and giving him the checks so quickly that the fellow’s sleepy eyes opened wider than they had been for a month. Relieved of his impedimenta, he returned to the station.

“Good morning, Mr. Lorry. Are you in too much of a hurry to see your friends?” cried a clear, musical voice, and he stopped as if shot. The anxious frown flew from his brow and was succeeded instantaneously by a glad smile. He wheeled and beheld her, with Aunt Yvonne, standing near the main entrance to the station. “Why, good morning,” he exclaimed, extending his hand gladly. To his amazement she drew herself up haughtily and ignored the proffered hand. Only for a brief second did this strange and uncalled—for hauteur obtain. A bright smile swept over her face, and her repentant fingers sought his timidly, even awkwardly. Something told him that she was not accustomed to handshaking; that same something impelled him to bend low and touch the gloved fingers with his lips. He straightened, with face flushed, half fearful lest his act had been observed by curious loungers, and he had taken a liberty in a public place which could not be condoned. But she smiled serenely, approvingly. There was not the faintest sign of embarrassment or confusion in the lovely face. Any other girl in the world, he thought, would have jerked her hand away and giggled furiously. Aunt Yvonne inclined her head slightly, but did not proffer her hand. He wisely refrained from extending his own. “I thought you had left the station,” he said.

“We are waiting for Uncle Caspar, who is giving Hedrick instructions. Hedrick, you know, is to go on to New York with our boxes. He will have them aboard ship when we arrive there. All that we have with us is hand luggage. We leave Washington tonight.”

“I had hoped you might stay over for a few days.”

“It is urgent business that compels us to leave so hastily, Mr. Lorry. Of all the cities in the world, I have most desired to see the capital of your country. Perhaps I may return some day. But do not let us detain you, if you are in a hurry.”

He started, looked guilty, stammered something about baggage, said he would return in a moment, and rushed aimlessly away, his ears fiery.

“I’m all kinds of a fool,” he muttered, as he raced around the baggage-room and then back to where he had left the two ladies. Mr. Guggenslocker had joined them and they were preparing to depart. Miss Guggenslocker’s face expressed pleasure at seeing him.

“We thought you would never return, so long were you gone,” she cried, gaily. He had been gone just two minutes by the watch! The old gentleman greeted him warmly, and Lorry asked them to what hotel they were going. On being informed that they expected to spend the day at the Ebbitt, he volunteered to accompany them, saying that he intended to breakfast there. Quicker than a flash a glance, unfathomable as it was brief, passed between the three, not quickly enough, however, to escape his keen, watchful eyes, on the alert since the beginning of his acquaintance with them, in conjunction with his ears, to catch something that might satisfy, in a measure, his burning curiosity. What was the meaning of that glance? It half angered him, for in it he thought he could distinguish annoyance, apprehension, dismay or something equally disquieting. Before he could stiffen his long frame and give vent to the dignified reconsideration that flew to his mind, the young lady dispelled all pain and displeasure, sending him into raptures, by saying:

“How good of you! We shall be so delighted to have you breakfast with us, Mr. Lorry, if it is convenient for you. You can talk to us of your wonderful city. Now, say that you will be good to us; stay your hunger and neglect your personal affairs long enough to give us these early morning hours. I am sure we cannot trouble you much longer.”

He expostulated gallantly and delightedly, and then hurried forth to call a cab. At eight o’clock he breakfasted with them, his infatuation growing deeper and stronger as he sat for the hour beneath the spell of those eyes, the glorious face, the sweet, imperial air that was a part of her, strange and unaffected. As they were leaving the dining-room he asked her if she would not drive with him.

His ardent gallantry met with a surprising rebuke. The conversation up to that moment had been bright and cheery, her face had been the constant reflector of his own good spirits, and he had every reason in the world to feel that his suggestion would be received with pleasure. It was a shock to him, therefore, to see the friendly smile fade from her eyes and a disdainful gleam succeed it. Her voice, a moment ago sweet and affable, changed its tone instantly to one so proud and arrogant that he could scarcely believe his ears.

“I shall be engaged during the entire day, Mr. Lorry,” she said, slowly, looking him fairly in the eyes with cruel positiveness. Those eyes of his were wide with surprise and the glowing gleam of injured pride. His lips closed tightly; little red spots flew to his cheeks and then disappeared, leaving his face white and cold; his heart throbbed painfully with the mingled emotions of shame and anger. For a moment he dared not speak.

“I have reason to feel thankful that you are to be engaged,” he said at last, calmly, without taking his eyes from hers. “I am forced to believe, much to my regret, that I have offended when I intended to please. You will pardon my temerity.”

There was no mistaking the resentment in his voice or the glitter in his eyes. Impulsively her little hand was stretched forth, falling upon his arm, while into her eyes came again the soft glow and to her lips the most pathetic, appealing smile, the forerunner of a pretty plea for forgiveness. The change startled and puzzled him more than ever. In one moment she was unreasonably rude and imperious, in the next gracious and imploring.

“Forgive me,” she cried, the blue eyes battling bravely against the steel in the grey ones above. “I was so uncivil! Perhaps I cannot make you understand why I spoke as I did, but, let me say, I richly deserved the rebuke. Pray forgive me and forget that I have been disagreeable. Do not ask me to tell you why I was so rude to you just now, but overlook my unkind treatment of your invitation. Please, Mr. Lorry, I beg of you—I beg for the first time in my life. You have been so good to me; be good to me still.”

His wrath melted away like snow before the sunshine. How could he resist such an appeal? “I beg for the first time in my life,” whirled in his brain. What did she mean by that?

“I absolve the penitent,” he said, gravely.

“I thank you. You are still my ideal American—courteous, bold and gentle. I do not wonder that Americans can be masterful men. And now I thank you for your invitation, and ask you to let me withdraw my implied refusal. If you will take me for the drive, I shall be delighted and more than grateful.”

“You make me happy again,” he said, softly, as they drew near the elder members of the party, who had paused to wait for them. “I shall ask your uncle and aunt to accompany us.”

“Uncle Caspar will be busy all day, but I am sure my aunt will be charmed. Aunt Yvonne, Mr. Lorry has asked us to drive with him over the city, and I have accepted for you. When are we to start, Mr. Lorry?”

Mr. and Mrs. Guggenslocker stared in a bewildered sort of manner at their niece. Then Aunt Yvonne turned questioning eyes toward her husband, who promptly bowed low before the tall American and said:

“Your kind offices shall never be forgotten, sir. When are the ladies to be ready?”

Lorry was weighing in his mind the advisability of asking them to dine in the evening with his mother, but two objections presented themselves readily. First, he was afraid of this perverse maid; second, he had not seen his mother. In fact, he did not know that she was in town.

“At two o’clock, I fancy. That will give us the afternoon. You leave at nine tonight, do you not?”

“Yes. And will you dine with us this evening?” Her invitation was so unexpected, in view of all that had happened, that he looked askance. “Ach, you must not treat my invitation as I did yours!” she cried, merrily, although he could detect the blush that returns with the recollection of a reprimand. “You should profit by what I have been taught.” The girl abruptly threw her arm about her aunt and cried, as she drew away in the direction of her room: “At two, then, and at dinner this evening. I bid you good morning, Mr. Lorry.”

The young man, delighted with the turn of affairs, but dismayed by what seemed a summary dismissal, bowed low. He waited until the strange trio entered the elevator and then sauntered downstairs, his hands in his pockets, his heart as light as air. Unconsciously he jingled the coins. A broad smile came over his face as he drew forth a certain piece. Holding it between his thumb and forefinger he said:

“You are what it cost her to learn my name, are you? Well, my good fellow, you may be very small, but you bought something that looks better than Guggenslocker on a hotel register. Your mistress is an odd bit of humanity, a most whimsical bit, I must say. First, she’s no and then she’s yes. You’re lucky, my coin, to have fallen into the custody of one who will not give you over to the mercy of strangers for the sake of a whim. You are now retired on a pension, well deserved after valiant service in the cause of a most capricious queen.”

In an hour he was at home and relating to his mother the story of his wanderings, neglecting, for reasons best known to himself, the events which occurred after Denver had been left behind, except for a casual allusion to “a party of foreigners.” At one o’clock, faultlessly attired, he descended to the brougham, telling Mrs. Lorry that he had invited some strangers to see the city. On the way downtown he remembered that he was in business, the law business—and that it would be well to drop in and let his uncle know he was in the city. On second thought, however, he concluded it was too near two o’clock to waste any time on business, so the office did not know that he was in town until the next day, and then to no great extent.

For several hours he reveled in her society, sitting beside her in that roomy brougham, Aunt Yvonne opposite, explaining to her the many places of interest as they passed. They entered the Capitol; they saw the White House, and, as they were driving back to the hotel, passed the President of the United States.

Miss Guggenslocker, when informed that the President’s carriage was approaching, relaxed gracefully from the stately reserve that had been puzzling him, and revealed an eager curiosity. Her eyes fastened themselves upon the President, Lorry finding entertainment in the changes that came over her unconscious face. Instead of noting the veneration he had expected, he was astonished and somewhat provoked to see a slight curl of disgust at the corners of her mouth, a pronounced disappointment in her eyes. Her face expressed ridicule, pure and simple, and, he was shocked to observe, the exposure was unconscious, therefore sincere.

“You do not like our ruler?” he said, as the carriage whirled by. He was returning his hat to his head as he spoke.

“I cannot say. I do not know him,” she replied, a tinge of sarcasm in her voice. “You Americans have one consolation; when you tire of a ruler you can put another in his place. Is it not wise to do so quite often?”

“I don’t think wise is the word. Expedient is better. I am to infer that you have no politics.”

“One house has ruled our land for centuries. Since I came to your land I have not once seen a man wave his hat with mad adulation and cry from his heart: ‘Long live the President!’ For centuries, in my country, every child has been born with the words: ‘Long live the Prince!’ in his heart, and he learns to say them next after the dear parental words are mastered. ‘Long live the Prince!’ ‘Long live the Princess!’ are tributes of love and honor that greet our rulers from birth to death. We are not fickle, and we have no politics.”

“Do your rulers hear tin horns, brass bands, campaign yells, firecrackers and stump speeches every four years? Do they know what it means to be the voluntary choice of a whole nation? Do they know what it is to rule because they have won the right and not because they were born to it? Has there ever been a homage-surfeited ruler in your land who has known the joy that comes with the knowledge that he has earned the right to be cheered from one end of the country to the other? Is there not a difference between your hereditary ‘Long live the Prince’ and our wild, enthusiastic, spontaneous ‘Hurrah for Cleveland!’ Miss Guggenslocker? All men are equal at the beginning in our land. The man who wins the highest gift that can be bestowed by seventy millions of people is the man who had brains and not title as a birthright.” He was a bit exasperated.

“There! I have displeased you again. You must pardon my antiquated ideas. We, as true and loyal subjects of a good sovereign, cannot forget that our rulers are born, not made. Perhaps we are afflicted at times with brainless monarchs and are to be pitied. You are generous in your selection of potentates, be generous, then, with me, a benighted royalist, who craves leniency of one who may some day be President of the United States.”

“Granted, without discussion. As possible, though not probable, President of the United States, I am magnanimous to an unfortunate who can never hope to be princess, no matter how well she might grace the gilded throne.”

She greeted this glowing remark with a smile so intoxicating that he felt himself the most favored of men. He saw that smile in his mind’s eye for months afterward, that maddening sparkle of joy, which flashed from her eyes to the very bottom of his heart, there to snuggle forever with Memory’s most priceless treasures. Their dinner was but one more phase of this fascinating dream. More than once he feared that he was about to awake to find bleak unhappiness where exquisite joy had reigned so gloriously. As it drew to an end a sense of depression came over him. An hour at most was all that he could have with her. Nine o’clock was drawing nigh with its regrets, its longings, its desolation. He determined to retain the pleasures of the present until, amid the clanging of bells and the roll of car wheels, the dismal future began. His intention to accompany them to the station was expressed as they were leaving the table. She had begun to say good-by to him when he interrupted, self-consciousness forcing the words hurriedly and disjointedly from his lips:

“You will let me go to the station with you. I shall—er—deem it a pleasure.”

She raised her eyebrows slightly, but thanked him and said she would consider it an honor. His face grew hot and his heart cold with the fancy that there was in her eyes a gleam which said: “I pity you, poor fellow.”

Notwithstanding his strange misgiving and the fact that his pride had sustained quite a perceptible shock, he drove with them to the station. They went to the sleeping car a few minutes before the time set for the train’s departure, and stood at the bottom of the steps, uttering the good-bys, the God-speeds and the sincere hope that they might meet again. Then came the sharp activity of the trainmen, the hurry of belated passengers. He glanced soberly at his watch.

“It is nine o’clock. Perhaps you would better get aboard,” he said, and proceeded to assist Aunt Yvonne up the steps. She turned and pressed his hand gently before passing into the car.

“Adieu, good friend. You have made it so very pleasant for us,” she said, earnestly.

The tall, soldierly old gentleman was waiting to assist his niece into the coach.

“Go first, Uncle Caspar,” the girl made Lorry happy by saying. “I can easily come up unaided.”

“Or I can assist her,” Lorry hastened to add, giving her a grateful look which she could not misunderstand. The uncle shook hands warmly with the young man and passed up the steps. She was following when Lorry cried,

“Will you not allow me?”

She laughingly turned to him from the steps and stretched forth her hand.

“And now it is good-by forever. I am so sorry that I have not seen more of you,” she said. He took her hand and held it tightly for a moment.

“I shall never forget the past few days,” he said, a thrill in his voice. “You have put something into my life that can never be taken away. You will forget me before you are out of Washington, but I—I shall always see you as you are now.”

She drew her hand away gently, but did not take her eyes from his upturned face.

“You are mistaken. Why should I forget you—ever? Are you not the ideal American whose name I bought? I shall always remember you as I saw you—at Denver.”

“Not as I have been since?” he cried.

“Have you changed since first I saw you?” she asked, quaintly.

“I have, indeed, for you saw me before I saw you. I am glad I have not changed for the worse in your eyes.”

“As I first knew you with my eyes I will say that they are trustworthy,” she said tantalizingly.

“I do not mean that I have changed externally.”

“In any other case my eyes would not serve,” she cried, with mock disappointment. “Still,” she added, sweepingly, “you are my ideal American. Good-by! The man has called ‘all aboard!’”

“Good-by!” he cried, swinging up on the narrow step beside her. Again he clasped her hand as she drew back in surprise. “You are going out of my land, but not out of my mind. If you wish your eyes to see the change in me, you have only to look at them in a mirror. They are the change—they themselves! Goodby! I hope that I may see you again.”

She hesitated an instant, her eyes wavering beneath his. The train was moving slowly now.

“I pray that we may meet,” she said, softly, at last,—so softly that he barely heard the words. Had she uttered no sound he could have been sure of her response, for it was in her telltale eyes. His blood leaped madly. “You will be hurt if you wait till the train is running at full speed,” she cried, suddenly returning to the abandoned merry mood. She pushed him gently in her excitement. “Don’t you see how rapidly we are moving? Please go!” There was a terror in her eyes that pleased him.

“Good-by, then,” he cried.

“Adieu, my American,” she cried quickly.

As he swung out, ready to drop to the ground, she said, her eyes sparkling with something that suggested mischief, her face more bewitching than ever under the flicker of the great arc lights:

“You must come to Edelweiss to see me. I shall expect you!” He thought there was a challenge in the tones. Or was it mockery?

“I will, by heaven, I will!” he exclaimed.

A startled expression flashed across her face, and her lips parted as if in protestation. As she leaned forward, holding stoutly to the hand-rail, there was no smile on her countenance.

A white hand fluttered before his eyes, and she was gone. He stood, hat in hand, watching the two red lights at the end of the train until they were lost in the night.

CHAPTER V

SENTIMENTAL EXCHANGE

If Lorry slept that night he was not aware of it. The next morning, after he had breakfasted with his mother, he tried in vain to recall a minute of the time between midnight and eight a.m. in which he did not think of the young woman who had flown away with his tranquillity. All night long he tossed and thought. He counted ten thousand black sheep jumping over a pasture fence, but, after the task was done and the sheep had scattered, he was as far from sleep as ever. Her face was everywhere. Her voice filled his ear with music never-ceasing, but it was not the lulling music that invites drowsiness. He heard the clock strike the hours from one to eight, when he arose, thoroughly disgusted with himself. Everything seemed to taste bitter or to look blue. That breakfast was a great strain on his natural politeness. He worshipped his mother, but in several instances that morning he caught himself just in time to prevent the utterance of some sharp rejoinder to her pleasant, motherly queries. Twice she was compelled to repeat questions, his mind being so far away that he heard nothing save words that another woman had uttered, say twenty-four hours before. His eyes were red, and there was a heavy droop to the lids; his tones were drawling and his voice strangely without warmth; his face was white and tired.

“You are not well, Grenfall,” his mother said, peering anxiously into his eyes. “The trip has done you up. Now, you must take a good, long rest and recover from your vacation.”

He smiled grimly.

“A man never needs a rest so much as he does at the end of his vacation, eh, mother? Well, work will be restful. I shall go to the office this morning and do three days’ work before night. That will prove to you that I am perfectly well.”

He made a pretence of reading the morning paper. There was nothing to interest him on’ those cold, commonplace pages, not one thing—but wait! A thought struck him suddenly, and for ten minutes he searched the columns assiduously, even nervously. Then he threw down the paper with a sigh of relief.

There was nothing to indicate that her train had been wrecked. She had undoubtedly reached New York in safety. He looked at his watch. She was probably enjoying her breakfast at that very moment. Perhaps she was thinking of him and—perhaps not. The memory of that last tender hand clasp and the soft glow in her eyes stood like a wall between the fear that she had forgotten and the certainty that she remembered. Had not this memory kept him awake? That and the final, mysterious emotion which had shown itself in her face as he had last looked upon it? A thousand times had he pondered over that startled look and the signs of agitation. Was it fear? Was it dismay? Was it renunciation? Whatever it was, it sorely disturbed him; it had partly undone the charm of the moment before—the charm that could not and would not be gainsaid.

True to his intention, he went to the office early, virtuously inclined to work. His uncle greeted him warmly and a long conference over business affairs followed. To Lorry’s annoyance and discomfiture he found himself frequently inattentive. Several important cases were pending, and in a day or two they were to go into court with a damage suit of more than ordinary consequence. Lorry, senior, could not repress his gratification over the return of his clever, active nephew at such an opportune time. He had felt himself unable to handle the case alone; the endurance of a young and vigorous mind was required for the coming battle in chancery.

They lunched together, the elder eager and confidential, the other respectful and—absent-minded. In the afternoon the junior went over the case, and renewed search for authorities and opinions, fully determined to be constant in spite of his inclination to be fickle. Late in the day he petulantly threw aside the books, curtly informed his astonished uncle that he was not feeling well, and left the office. Until dinner time he played billiards atrociously at his club; at dinner his mother sharply reproved him for flagrant inattentions; after dinner he smoked and wondered despondently. Tomorrow she was to sail! If he could but see her once more!

At 7:30 his mother found him in the library, searching diligently through the volume of the encyclopedia that contained the G’s. When she asked what he was looking for he laughed idiotically, and, in confusion, informed her that he was trying to find the name of the most important city in Indiana. She was glancing at the books in the case when she was startled by hearing him utter an exclamation and then lean to his feet.

“Half-past seven! I can make it!”

“What is the matter, Gren dear?”

“Oh!” he ejaculated, bringing himself up with a start. “I forgot—er—yes, mother, I’ll just have time to catch the train, you know. Will you kindly have Mary clean up this muss of books and so forth? I’m off, you see, to New York—for a day only, mother,—back tomorrow! Important business—just remembered it, you know,—ahem! Good-by, mother! Good-by!” he had kissed her and was in the hall before she fairly understood what he was talking about. Then she ran after him, gaining the hallway in time to see him pass through the street door, his hat on the side of his head, his overcoat fluttering furiously as he shoved his arms into the sleeves. The door slammed, and he was off to New York.

The train was ready to pull out when he reached the station, and it was only by a hard run that he caught the last platform, panting but happy. just twenty-four hours before she had left Washington, and it was right here that she had smiled and said she would expect him to come to Edelweiss. He had had no time to secure a berth in the sleeper, but was fortunately able to get one after taking the train. Grenfall went to sleep feeling both disappointed and disgusted. Disappointed because of his submission to sentiment; disgusted because of the man who occupied the next section. A man who is in love and in doubt has no patience with the prosaic wretch who can sleep so audibly.

After a hasty breakfast in New York he telephoned to the steamship company’s pier and asked the time of sailing for the Kaiser Wilhelm. On being informed that the ship was to cast off at her usual hour, he straightway called a cab and was soon bowling along toward the busy waterway. Directly he sat bolt upright, rigid and startled to find himself more awakened to the realization of his absurd action. Again it entered his infatuated head that he was performing the veriest schoolboy trick in rushing to a steamship pier in the hope of catching a final, and at best, unsatisfactory glimpse of a young woman who had appealed to his sensitive admiration. A love-sick boy could be excused for such a display of imbecility, but a man—a man of the world’. Never!

“The idea of chasing down to the water’s edge to see that girl is enough to make you ashamed of yourself for life, Grenfall Lorry,” he apostrophized. “It’s worse than any lovesick fool ever dreamed of doing. I am blushing, I’ll be bound. The idiocy, the rank idiocy of the thing! And suppose she should see me staring at her out there on the pier? What would she think of me? I’ll not go another foot! I won’t be a fool!”

He was excited and self-conscious and thoroughly ashamed of the trip into which his impetuous adoration had driven him. Just as he was tugging at the door in the effort to open it that he might order the driver to take him back to the hotel, a sly tempter whispered something in his ear; his fancy was caught, and he listened:

“Why not go down to the pier and look over the passenger list, just to see if she has been booked safely? That would be perfectly proper and sensible, and besides it will be a satisfaction to know that she gets off all right. Certainly! There’s nothing foolish in that.… Especially as I am right on the way there.… And as I have come so far…there’s no sense in going back without seeing whether she has secured passage.… I can find out in a minute and then go home. There won’t be anything wrong in that. And then I may have a glimpse of her before the ship leaves the pier. She must not see me, of course. Never! She’d laugh at me! How I’d hate to see her laughing at me!” Then, sinking back again with a smile of justification on his face, he muttered: “We won’t turn back; we’ll go right ahead. We’ll be a kind of a fool, but not so foolish as to allow her to see us and recognize us as one.”

Before long they arrived at the wharf, and he hurried to the office near by. The clerk permitted him to look over the list. First he ran through the first-class passengers, and was surprised to find that there was no such name as Guggenslocker in the list. Then he went over the second class, but still no Guggenslocker.

“Hasn’t Mr. Guggenslocker taken passage?” he demanded, unwilling to believe his eyes.

“Not on the Kaiser Wilhelm, sir.”

“Then, by George, they’ll miss the boat!” Lorry exclaimed. “Maybe they’ll be here in a few minutes.”

“They can’t get anything but steerage now, sir. Everything else is gone.”

“Are you sure they haven’t taken passage?” asked the bewildered Lorry, weakly.

“You can see for yourself,” answered the young man, curtly. Lorry was again in a perspiration, this time the result of a vague, growing suspicion that had forced itself into his mind. He wandered aimlessly away, his brain a chaos of speculation. The suspicion to which he had given countenance grew, and as it enlarged he suffered torment untold. Gradually he came to the conclusion that she had fooled him, had lied to him. She did not intend to sail on the Wilhelm, at all. It was all very clear to him now, that strangeness in her manner, those odd occasional smiles What was she? An adventuress! That sweet-faced girl a little ordinary coquette, a liar? He turned cold with the thought. Nor was she alone in her duplicity. Had not her uncle and aunt been as ready to deceive him? Were they trying to throw him off their track for some subtle purpose? Had they done something for which they were compelled to fly the country as quickly as possible? No! Not that! They certainly were not fleeing from justice. But why were they not on board the Kaiser Wilhelm?

Suddenly he started as if he had been struck, and an involuntary exclamation of pain and horror escaped his lips. Perhaps something unforeseen had happened—an accident—illness—even death!

The clanging of bells broke upon his ears and he knew that the great ship was about to depart. Mechanically, disconsolately he walked out and paced the broad, crowded wharf. All was excitement. There was the rush of people, the shouts, the cheers, the puffing of tugs, the churning of water, and the Kaiser Wilhelm was off on its long voyage. Half-heartedly, miserably and in a dazed condition he found a place in the front row along the rail. There were tears in his eyes, tears of anger, shame and mortification. She had played with him!

Moodily he watched the crowd of voyagers hanging over the rails of the moving leviathan of the deep. A faint smile of irony came to his lips. This was the boat on which his heart was to have been freighted from native shores. The craft was sailing, but it was not carrying the cargo that he had, in very good faith, consigned to Graustark. His heart was certainly not on board the Kaiser Wilhelm der Grosse.

Gloomily his disappointed eyes swept along the rail of the big steamer, half interested in spite of themselves. Twice they passed a certain point on the forward deck, unconscious of a force that was attracting them in that direction. The third time he allowed them to settle for an instant on the group of faces and figures and then stray off to other parts of the ship. Some strange power drew them again to the forward deck, and this time he was startled into an intent stare. Could he believe those eyes? Surely that was her figure at the rail—there between the two young women who were waving their handkerchiefs so frantically. His heart began to jump up and down, wildly, doubtingly, impatiently. Why could not that face be turned toward the wharf as the others were? There was the blue coat but not the blue cap. A jaunty sailor hat sat where the never-to-be-forgotten cap had perched. The change was slight, but it was sufficient to throw him into the most feverish state of uncertainty. An insane desire to shout a command to this strange young woman came over him.

The ship was slowly opening a gap between herself and the wharf, and he knew that in a few moments recognition would be impossible. Just as he was losing hope and was ready to groan with despair, the face beneath the sailor hat was turned squarely in his direction. A glaze obscured his eyes, a numbness attacked his brain. It was Miss Guggenslocker!

Why was her name omitted from the passenger list? That question was the first to whirl through his addled brain. He forgot the questionings, forgot everything a moment later, for, to his amazement and delight and discomfiture, he saw that she was peering intently at him. A pair of big glasses was leveled at him for a second and then lowered. He plainly saw the smile on her face, and the fluttering cambric in her hand. She had seen him, after all,—had caught him in a silly exhibition of weakness. Her last impression of him, then, was to be one of which he could not feel proud. While his heart burned with shame, it could not have been suspected from the appearance of his face. His eyes were dancing, his mouth was wide open with joy, his lips were quivering with a suppressed shout, his cheeks were flushed and his whole aspect bespoke ecstacy. He waved his hat and then his handkerchief, obtaining from her vigorous and unrestrained signs of approbation. Her face was wreathed in smiles as she leaned far over the rail, the picture of animated pleasure.

Making sure that her uncle and aunt were not visible, he boldly placed his fingers to his lips and wafted a kiss out over the water!

“Now she’ll crush me,” he cried to himself, regretting the rash act and praying that she had not observed it.

Her handkerchief ceased fluttering in an instant, and, with sinking heart, he realized that she had observed. There was a moment of indecision on the part of the fair one going out to sea, and then the little finger tips of both hands went to her lips and his kiss came back to him!

The people near him were surprised to hear a wild yell from his lips and then to see him wave his hat so madly that there was some danger of its being knocked to pieces against the railing or upon the persons of those who stood too close to escape the whirling consequences. So unexpected had been her reception of what he considered a calamitous indiscretion that he was to be pardoned for the ebullition of relief and joy that followed. Had she drawn a revolver and fired angrily at him he could not have been more astounded. But, to actually throw a kiss to him—to meet his imprudence in the same spirit that had inspired it! Too much to believe! In the midst of his elation, however, there came a reminder that she did not expect to see him again, that she was playing with him, that it was a merry jest and not a heartache that filled her bosom at the parting.

While he was still waving his handkerchief, debating savagely and joyously the wisdom of the act, she became a part of the distant color scheme; the blue figure faded and blended into the general tone and could no longer be distinguished. She was gone, but she had tossed him a kiss from lips that he should always see. As he turned away from the water he found himself wondering if there had been tears in her eyes, but the probability was so remote that he laughed foolishly and aloud A couple of girls heard the laugh and giggled in sympathy, but he turned a scowling face upon them and disappeared in the throng.

Uppermost in his bewildered mind was the question: Why is she not in the passenger list? Acting on a sudden impulse, he again sought out the clerk in charge and made a most thorough inspection. There was no Guggenslocker among the names. As a last resort h asked:

“They could not have sailed under an assumed name, could they?”

“I can’t say as to that. Where are they going?”

“Graustark.”

But the young man shook his head slowly, Lorry’s shaking in unconscious accord.

“Are you sure that you saw the young lady on board?”

“Well, rather!” exclaimed Lorry, emphatically.

“I was going to say there are a lot of Italian and German singers on the ship, and you might have been mistaken. But since you are so positive, it seems very strange that your friends are not on the list.”

So Lorry went away discouraged and with a vague fear that she might have been a prima donna whose real name was Guggenslocker but whose stage name was something more euphonious. He instantly put away the thought and the fear. She was certainly not an opera singer—impossible! He drove back to his hotel, and made preparations for his return to Washington. Glancing casually over the register he came to the name that had been haunting him—Guggenslocker! There were the names, “Caspar Guggenslocker and four, Graustark.” Without hesitation he began to question the clerk.

“They sailed on the Kaiser Wilhelm today;” said that worthy. “That’s all I know about them. They came yesterday and left today.”

Mr. Grenfall Lorry returned to Washington as in a dream—a fairy dream. The air of mystery that had grown from the first was now an impenetrable wall, the top of which his curiosity could not scale. Even his fancy, his imagination, served him not. There was but one point on which he was satisfied: he was in love. His own condition was no mystery.

Several weeks later he went to New York to question the Captain of the Wilhelm, hoping to clear away the clouds satisfactorily. To his amazement, the captain said there had been no Guggenslockers on board nor had there been persons answering the description, so far as he could tell.

Through the long hot summer he worked, and worried, and wondered. In the first, he did little that was satisfactory to himself or to his uncle; in the second, he did so much that he was advised by his physician to take a rest; in the last, he indulged himself so extensively that it had become unbearable. He must know all about her? But how?

The early months of autumn found him pale and tired and indifferent alike to work and play. Ha found no pleasure in the society that had known him as a lion. Women bored him; men annoyed him; the play suffocated him; the tiresome club was ruining his temper; the whole world was going wrong. The doctor told him he was approaching nervous prostration; his mother’s anxious eyes could no longer be denied, so he realized grimly that there was but one course left open to him.

He suggested it to the doctor, to his mother and to his uncle, and they agreed with him. It involved Europe.

Having fully decided again to cross the sea, his spirits revived. He became more cheerful, took an interest in things that were going on, and, by the time the Kaiser Wilhelm sailed in September, was the picture of health and life.

He was off for Edelweiss—to the strange Miss Guggenslocker who had thrown him a kiss from the deck that sailing-day.

CHAPTER VI

GRAUSTARK

Two weeks later Grenfall Lorry was landed and enjoying the sensations, the delights of that wonderful world called by the name of Paris. The second day after his arrival he met a Harvard man of his time on the street. Harry Anguish had been a pseudo art student for two years. When at college he was a hail-fellow-well-met, a leader in athletics and in matters upon which faculties frown. He and Lorry were warm friends, although utterly unlike in temperament; to know either of these men was to like him; between the two one found all that was admirable and interesting in man. The faults and virtues of each were along such different lines that they balanced perfectly when lumped upon the scale of personal estimation. Their unexpected meeting in Paris, was as exhilarating pleasure to both, and for the next week or so they were inseparable. Together they sipped absinthe at the cafes and strolled into the theaters, the opera, the dance halls and the homes of some of Anguish’s friends, French and American.

Lorry did not speak to his friend of Graustark until nearly two weeks after his arrival in the city. He had discussed with himself the advisability of revealing his plans to Anguish, fearing the latter’s ridicule with all the cowardice of a man who knows that scoffing is, in a large measure, justifiable. Growing impatient to begin the search for the unheard-of country, its capital and at least one of its inhabitants, he was at last compelled to inform Anguish, to a certain extent, of his plans for the future. He began by telling him of his intention to take a run over toward Vienna, Buda-Pesth and some of the Eastern cities, expecting to be gone a couple of months. To his surprise and consternation, Anguish enthusiastically volunteered to take the trip with him, having had the same project in view for nearly a year.

There was nothing left for Lorry but to make a clean breast of it, which he did shamefacedly, expecting the laughter and raillery of his light-hearted friend as payment for his confidence. Instead, however, Anguish, who possessed a lively and romantic nature, was charmed by the story and proclaimed it to be the most delightful adventure that had ever happened outside of a story-book.

“Tell me all about her,” he urged, his eyes sparkling with boyish enthusiasm. And Lorry proceeded to give him a personal description of the mysterious beauty, introducing him, in the same manner, to the distinguished uncle and aunt, adding all those details which had confounded and upset him during his own investigations.

“This is rich!” exclaimed Anguish. “Beats any novel written, I declare. Begad, old man, I don’t blame you for hunting down this wonderful bit of femininity. With a curiosity and an admiration that had been sharpened so keenly as yours, I’d go to the end of the world myself to have them satisfied.”

“I may be able to satisfy but one—curiosity. And maybe not that. But who knows of Graustark?”

“Don’t give up before you’ve tried. If these people live in such a place, why, it is to be found, of course. Any railroad guide-book can locate this land of mystery. There are so many infernal little kingdoms and principalities over here that it would take a lifetime to get ’em all straightened out in one’s head. Tomorrow morning we will go to one of the big railway-stations and make inquiries. We’ll locate Graustark and then we’ll go over and pluck the flower that grows there. All you need, my boy, is a manager. I’ll do the arranging, and your little act will be the plucking.”

“Easier said than done.”

“She threw a kiss to you, didn’t she?”

“Certainly, but, confound it, that was because she never expected to see me again.”

“Same reason why you threw a kiss to her, I suppose?”

“I know why; I wasn’t accountable.”

“Well, if she did it any more wittingly than you did, she is accountable, and I’d hunt her up and demand an explanation.”

Lorry laughed at his apparent fervor, but was glad that he had confided in his energetic countryman. Two heads were better than one, and he was forced to admit to himself that he rather liked the idea of company in the undertaking. Not that he expected to encounter any particular difficulty, but that he saw a strange loneliness ahead. Therefore he welcomed his friend’s avowed intention to accompany him to Edelweiss as a relief instead of an annoyance. Until late in the night they discussed the coming trip, Anguish finally startling him with a question, just as he was stretching himself preparatory to the walk to his hotel.

“What are you going to do with her after you find her, Gren, old man?”

Grenfall’s brow puckered and he brought himself up with a jerk, puzzled uncertainty expressing itself in his posture as well as in his face.

“I’ll think about that after I have found her,” he replied.

“Think you’ll marry her?” persisted the other.

“How do I knew?” exclaimed the woman hunter, savagely.

“Oh, of course you don’t know—how could you?” apologized Anguish. “Maybe she won’t have you—maybe she is married—all sorts of contingencies, you know. But, if you’ll pardon my inquisitiveness, I’d like to ask why you are making this wild goose chase half around the world? just to have another look at her?”

“You asked me if I thought—” Here he stopped.

“I take it for granted, then, that you’d like to. Well, I’m glad that I’ve got something definite on which to base operations. The one object of our endeavors, from now on, is to exchange Guggenslocker for Lorry—certainly no robbery. A charity, I should say. Good-night! See you in the morning.”

The next morning the two friends took a cab to several railway stations and inquired about Graustark and Edelweiss.

“She was stringing you, old man,” said Anguish, after they had turned away from the third station. He spoke commiseratingly, as he really felt sorry.

“No!” exclaimed Lorry. “She told me the truth. There is a Graustark and she lives there. I’ll stake my life on those eyes of hers.”

“Are you sure she said it was in Europe?” asked Harry, looking up and down the street as if he would not have been surprised to see her in Paris. In his heart he believed that she and her precious relatives had deceived old Gren. Perhaps their home was in Paris, and nowhere else. But for Lorry’s positiveness he would have laughed heartily at the other’s simple credulity, or branded him a dolt, the victim of some merry actress’s whim. Still, he was forced to admit, he was not in a position to see matters as they appeared, and was charitable enough to bide his time and to humor the faith that was leading them from place to place in the effort to find a land that they knew nothing about. Lorry seemed so sure, so positive, that he was loath to see his dream dispelled, his ideal shattered. There was certainly no Graustark; neither had the Guggenslockers sailed on the Wilhelm, all apparent evidence to the contrary notwithstanding. Lorry had been in a delirium and had imagined he saw her on the ship. If there, why was not her name in the list? But that problem tortured the sanguine searcher himself.

At last, in despair, after a fruitless search of two days, Lorry was willing to submit. With the perverseness common to half-defeated fighters, Anguish at once protested, forgetting that he had sought to dissuade his friend the day before.

“We’ll go to the library of Paris and take a look through the books and maps,” he said. “Or, better still, let us go to the post office. There! Why have we not thought of that? What there is of Graustark they’ll know in the postal service.”

Together they visited the chief post office, where, after being directed to various deputies and clerks, they at length found the department in which the information was obtainable. Inside of five minutes they were in possession of facts that vindicated Miss Guggenslocker, lifted Lorry to the seventh heaven, and put Mr. Anguish into an agony of impatience. Graustark was a small principality away off to the east, and Edelweiss was a city of some seventy-five thousand inhabitants, according to the postal guide-book.

The Americans could learn no more there, so they went to Baedecker’s office. Here they found a great map, and, after a diligent and almost microscopic search, succeeded in discovering the principality of Graustark. Then they looked at each other in dismay.

“It’s a devil of a distance to that little red blot on the map,” mused Lorry, pulling his nose reflectively. “What an outlandish place for a girl like her to live in,” he continued. “And that sweet-faced old lady and noble Uncle Caspar! Ye gods! one would think barbarians existed there and not such people as the Guggenslockers, refined, cultivated smart, rich. I’m more interested than ever in the place.”

“So am I! I’m willing and ready to make the trip, old man, if you are still of a mind. It’s a lark, and, besides, she may not be the only pretty and gracious girl there. We’ve had bard work to find it on the map, let’s not stop till we see Edelweiss on the earth itself.”

They made hasty preparations for the journey. Anguish, romantic and full of adventure, advised the purchase of a pair of pistols and a knife apiece, maintaining that, as they were going into an unknown and mountainous region, they should be prepared for brigands and other elements of danger. Lorry pooh-poohed the suggestion of brigands, but indulged his mood by buying some ugly-looking revolvers and inviting the prospect of something really thrilling in the way of an adventure. With their traps they were soon whirling through France, bound for a certain great city, on the road to Edelweiss, one filled with excitement, eagerness and boyish zeal, the other harrassed by the sombre fear that a grave disappointment was in store for him. Through the glamour and the picturesqueness of the adventure there always crept the unconquerable feeling that he was on a fool’s errand, that he was committing a deed so weak and brainless that it was sure to make him a veritable laughing-stock when it became known. After all, who was Miss Guggenslocker—brewer, baker, gardener or sausage-maker.

Traveling, of course, was pleasant at this time of the year, and the two Americans saw much that interested them along the way. Their French, especially Anguish’s, was of great value to them, for they found occasion to use it at all times and in all places. Both spoke German fairly well, and took every opportunity to brush up in that language, Lorry remembering that the Guggenslockers used many expressions that showed a preference for the Teutonic. The blithe Anguish, confident and in high feather, was heart and soul in the odd expedition of love, and talked incessantly of their reception by the far-away hostess, their impressions and the final result. His camera and sketching materials were packed away with his traps. It was his avowed intention to immortalize the trip by means of plate, palate and brush.

At the end of two days they reached a certain large city,—the first change, and then seven hundred miles to another. The distance from this point to the capital of Graustark was two hundred miles or more, chiefly through mountainous lands. Somewhat elated by the cheerful information there received, they resumed the journey to Edelweiss, the city of vale, slope and park,—summer, fall and winter. Changing cars at the end of the second day out, they sat back in the dusty seats of their carriage and sighed with relief.

“Unless we jump the track, this train will land us in the city we are looking for,” said Anguish, stretching out his legs comfortably. “I’ll admit it has been a tiresome journey, and I’ll be glad when we can step into a decent hotel, have a rub, and feel like white men once more. I am beginning to feel like these dirty Slavs and Huns we saw ’way back there.”

“There’s one thing certain,” said Lorry, looking out of the window. “The people and the habitations are different and the whole world seems changed since we left that station. Look at those fellows on horseback over there.”

“What did I tell you about brigands and robbers!” exclaimed Anguish. “If those fellows are not bandits I’ll lose faith in every novel I ever read.”

The train rolled slowly past three mounted men whose steeds stood like statues upon a little knoll to the right of the track, men and beasts engaged in silent contemplation of the cars. The men, picturesquely attired and looking fierce, carrying long rifles, certainly bore an aspect that suggested the brigand. When the guard entered the carriage Anguish asked in German for some information concerning the riders.

“Dey’re frontier police-guards,” responded the man in English, smiling at their astonishment. Both Americans arose and shook hands with him.

“By George, it’s good to hear a man talk white man’s language,” cried Anguish.

“How do you come to be holding a job on this road? An Englishman?” demanded Lorry. He looked anything but English.

“I’m not an Englishman,” said the guard, flushing slightly. “My name’s Sitzky, and I’m an American, sir.”

“An American!” exclaimed Lorry. Sitzky grew loquacious.

“Sure! I used to be a sailor on a United States man-o’war. A couple of years ago I got into trouble down at Constantinople and had to get out of de service. After dat I drifted up dis way and went to railroadin’.” He hadn’t exactly the manner of a man-of-warsman.

“How long have you been on this road?” asked Grenfall.

“’Bout a year, I should t’ink. Been on dis branch only two months, dough.”

“Are you pretty well acquainted in Edelweiss?”

“Oh, I run in dere every other day—in an’ out ag’in. It’s a fine place,—purtiest you ever saw in your life. The town runs right up the mountain to the tip-top where the monks are—clear up in d’ clouds. Dey say it snows up dere almost all d’ time.”

Later on, from the loquacious guard, the two Americans learned quite a good bit about the country and city to which they were going. His knowledge was somewhat limited along certain lines, but quite clear as to others.

“Dis Graustark, ’s fer as I know, is eeder a sort o’ state or somet’ing belongin’ to de Umpire, governed by it’s own rulers. Edelweiss is de capital, d’ big guns of d’ land lives dere. I’ve walked out and saw d’ castle where d’ Princess and d’ royalty hangs out. D’ people speak a language of deir own, and I can’t get next to a t’ink dey say. But once in a while you find some guy dat talks French or German. Dey’ve got a little standin’ army of two t’ree t’ousand men an’ dey’ve got de hottest uniforms you ever did see—red an’ black an’ gold. I don’t see why d’ United Rates can’t get up somethin’ foxy fer her soldiers to wear. Had a war over here not long ago, I understand—somethin’ like ten or fifteen years ago. Dere’s another little country up north of Graustark, and dey got in a wrangle ’bout somethin’, and dey tell me in Edelweiss dat for ’bout a year dey fought like Sam Patch.”

“Which was victorious?” demanded Lorry, deeply interested.

“I’m not sure. To hear d’ Edelweiss people talk you’d t’ink dey licked d’ daylights out of d’ other slobs, but somehow I got next to d’ fact dat dem other fellows captured de city an’ went after a slashin’ big war indemnity. I don’t know much ’bout it, an’ maybe I’m clear off but I t’ink d’ Graustark army was trashed. Every t’ing is prosperous now, dough, an’ you’d never know dere’d been a war. It’s d’most peaceable town I ever saw.”

“Did you ever hear of the Guggenslockers?” asked the irrepressible Anguish, and Lorry felt like kicking him.

“In Edelweiss? Never did. Friends of yours?”

“Acquaintances,” interposed Lorry, hastily, frowning at Anguish.

“You won’t have any trouble findin’ ’em if dere anybody at all,” said Sitzky, easily. “D’ hotel people ought to be able to tell you all ’bout ’em.”

“By the way, what is the best hotel there?” asked Anguish.

“Dere’s d’ Burnowentz, one block north of d’ depot.” The travelers looked at one another and smiled, Sitzky observing the action. “Oh,” he said, pleasantly, “dere’s a swell joint uptown called d’ Regengetz. It’s too steep fer me, but maybe you gents can stand it. It you’ll hang around d’ depot fer a little while after we get in I’ll steer you up dere.”

“We’ll make it worth your while, Sitzky,” said Lorry.

“Never mind dat, now. Americans ought to stick together, no matter where dey are. We’ll have a drink an’ ’at’s all, just to show we’re fellow countrymen.”

“We’ll have several drinks, and we’ll eat and drink tonight at the ‘swell joint’ you talk about,” said Anguish.

“We may drink dere, but I’ll not eat dere. Dey wouldn’t let a railroad guard inside de feedin’ pen. Why, nothin’ but royal guys eat dere when dey’re down town shoppin’ or exposin’ demselves to public gaze.”

True to his word, when they reached Edelweiss late that afternoon Sitzky, their friend of uncertain origin, hurriedly finished his work and joined the travelers in the station. Lorry and Anguish were deeply interested in all they saw, the strange people, the queer buildings, the odd costumes and the air of antiquity that prevailed. Once upon the narrow, clean street they saw that Edelweiss was truly a city of the mountain-side. They had expected something wonderful, but were not prepared for what they found. The city actually ran up into the clouds. There was something so grand, so improbable, so unusual in the spectacle confronting them that they stared like children, aghast and stupefied. Each had the startling impression that a great human-dotted mountain was falling over upon his head; it was impossible to subdue the sensation of dizziness that the toppling town inspired.

“I know how you feel,” observed Sitzky, laughing. “I was just d’ same at first. Tomorrow you walk a little ways up d’ side of d’ mountain an’ you’ll see how much of d’ city dere is on level ground down here. Dem buildings up dere ain’t more’n one-fiftieth part of d’town. Dey’re mostly summer homes. It gets hot as blazes down here in d’ valley in d’ middle of d’ summer and d’ rich ones move up d’ mountain.”

“How in thunder do people get up to those houses?” demanded Anguish.

“Mules,” answered Sitzky, specifically. “Say! See dat little old feller comin’ on horseback—wid d’ white uniform? Well, dat’s de chief of police, an’ d’ fellers behind him are police guards. ’At’s old Dangloss himself. He’s a peach, dey say.”

A short, grizzly-faced man, attired in a white uniform with red trimmings, followed by three men similarly garbed, rode by, going in the direction of the passenger station. Dangloss, as Sitzky had called him, was quite small in stature, rather stout, gray-bearded and eagle-nosed. His face was keen and red, and not at all the kind to invite familiarity. As he passed them the railroad guard of American citizenship touched his cap and the two travelers bowed, whereupon the chief of police gave them a most profound salutation, fairly sweeping his saddleskirts with his white cap.

“Polite old codger,” observed Anguish.

“His company manners. Just let him get you in d’ sweatbox, if you t’ink he’s polite.”

“Ever been there?”

“Well,” a little confusedly, “I pasted a Graustark baggage-smasher down in d’ yards two weeks ago, an’ dey had me up. I proved d’ feller insulted a lady, an’ old Dangloss let me off, sayin’ I’d ought to have a medal. Dese guys are great on gallantry when ladies is concerned. If it hadn’t been fer dat, I’d be in d’ lock-up now. An’ say, you ought to see d’ lock-up! It’s a tower, wid dungeons an’ all dat sort of t’ing. A man couldn’t no more get out ’n’ he could fly up to d’ monastery. Dey’re great on law an’ order here, too. D’ Princess has issued strictest kind of rules an’ everybody has to live up to ’em like as if dey was real gospel. I t’ought I’d put you next, gents, so’s you wouldn’t be doin’ anyt’ing crooked here.”

“Thanks,” said Lorry, drily. “We shall try to conduct ourselves discreetly in the city.”

Probably a quarter mile farther down the narrow, level street they came to the bazaars, the gaudy stores, and then the hotel. It was truly a hostelry to inspire respect and admiration in the mind of such as Sitzky, for it was huge and well equipped with the modern appointments. As soon as the two Americans had been given their rooms, they sent for their luggage. Then they went out to the broad piazza, with its columns and marble balustrades, and looked for Sitzky, remembering their invitation to drink. The guard had refused to enter the hotel with them, urging them to allow him to remain on the piazza. He was not there when they returned, but they soon saw him. On the sidewalk he was arguing with a white-uniformed police guard, and they realized that he had been ejected from sacred precincts.

They promptly rescued him from the officer, who bowed and strode away as soon as they interceded.

“Dese fellers is slick enough to see you are swells and I’m not,” said Sitzky, not a bit annoyed by his encounter. “I’ll bet my head ’at inside ten minutes old Dangloss will know who you are, where you come from an’ what you’re doin’ here.”

“I’ll bet fifty heads he won’t find out what we’re doing here,” grinned Anguish, looking at Lorry. “Well, let’s hunt up the thirst department.”

They found the little apartment in which drinks were served at tables, and before they said good-by to Sitzky in front of the hotel, a half hour later, that worthy was in exceeding good humor and very much flushed in the face. He said he would be back in two days, and if they needed him for any purpose whatever, they could reach him by a note at the railway station.

“Funny how you run across an American in every nook and corner of the world,” mused Lorry, as they watched the stocky ex-man-o’warsman stroll off towards his hotel.

“If we can run across the Guggenslockers as easily, we’ll be in luck. When shall we begin the hunt? Tonight?”

“We can make a few inquiries concerning them. They certainly are people of importance here.”

“I don’t see the name on any of the brewery signs around town,” observed Anguish, consolingly. “There’s evidently no Guggenslocker here.”

They strolled through the streets near the hotel until after six o’clock, wondering at the quaint architecture, the pretty gardens and the pastoral atmosphere that enveloped the city. Everybody was busy, contented, quiet and happy. There was no bustle or strife, no rush, no beggars. At six they saw hundreds of workingmen on the streets, going to their homes; shops were closed and there came to their ears the distant boom of cannon, evidently fired from different points of the compass and from the highland as well as the lowland.

“The toy army is shooting off the good-night guns,” speculated Anguish. “I suppose everybody goes to bed now.

“Or to dinner,” substituted Lorry, and they returned to the Regengetx. The dining hall was spacious and beautiful, a mixture of the oriental and the mediaeval. It rapidly filled.

“Who the dickens can all these people be? They look well,” Anguish whispered, as if he feared their nearest neighbors might understand his English.

“They are unquestionably of the class in which we must expect to find the Guggenslockers.”

Before the meal was over the two strangers saw that they were attracting a great deal of attention from the other guests of the house. The women, as well as the men, were eyeing them and commenting quite freely, it was easy to see. These two handsome, smooth-faced young Americans were as men from another world, so utterly unlike their companions were they in personal appearance. They were taller, broader and more powerfully built than the swarthy-faced men about them, and it was no wonder that the women allowed admiration to show in their eyes. Toward the end of the dinner several officers came in, and the Americans took particular pains to study them. They were cleanly-built fellows, about medium height, wiry and active. As a class, the men appeared to average five feet seven inches in height, some a little taller, some a little shorter. The two strangers were over six feet tall, broad-shouldered and athletic. They looked like giants among these Graustark men.

“They’re not very big, but they look as if they’d be nasty in a scrap,” observed Anguish, unconsciously throwing out his chest.

“Strong as wildcats, I’ll wager. The women are perfect, though. Have you ever seen a smarter set of women, Harry?”

“Never, never! A paradise of pretty women. I believe I’ll take out naturalization papers.”

When the two strangers left the dining-room they were conscious that every eye in the place was upon them. They drew themselves to their full height and strode between the tables toward the door, feeling that as they were on exhibition they ought to appear to the best advantage. During the evening they heard frequent allusions to “the Americans,” but could not understand what was said. The hotel men were more than obsequious; the military men and citizens were exceedingly deferential; the women who strolled on the piazza or in the great garden back of the hotel were discreetly curious.

“We seem to be the whole show here, Gren,” said Anguish, as they sat down at one of the tables in the garden.

“I guess Americans are rare.”

“I’ve found one fellow who can speak German and French, and not one, except our guard who can talk English. That clerk talks German fairly well. I never heard such a language as these other people use. Say, old man, we’d better make inquiry about our friends tonight. That clerk probably won’t be on duty tomorrow.”

“We’ll ask him before we go to bed,” agreed Lorry, and upon leaving the brilliantly lighted garden they sought the landlord and asked if he could tell them where Caspar Guggenslocker lived. He looked politely incredulous and thoughtful, and then, with profound regret, assured them he had never heard the name. He said he had lived in Edelweiss all his life, and knew everybody of consequence in the town.

“Surely there must be such people here,” cried Lorry, almost appealingly. He felt disheartened and cheated. Anguish was biting his lips.

“Oh, possibly among the poorer classes. If I were you, sir, I should call on Captain Dangloss, the Chief of Police. He knows every soul in Edelweiss. I am positive I have never heard the name. You will find the Captain at the Tower tomorrow morning.”

The two Americans went to bed, one so dismayed by his disappointment that he could not sleep for hours.

CHAPTER VII

THE LADY IN THE CARRIAGE

They slept rather late in the morning, first because they were very much fatigued after their long journey, second for the reason that they had been unable to woo slumber until long past midnight. Anguish stretched himself lazily in bed when he heard Lorry’s voice from the adjoining room.

“I suppose we are to consult the police in order to get a clue to your charmer,” he yawned. “Nice friends you pickup on railway journeys. I’d be ashamed.”

“Well, Harry, I’ll confess I’m disgusted. This has been the most idiotic thing I’ve ever done, and if you say the word we’ll get out of here on the first train—freight or passenger. The Guggenslockers—pigs!” Mr. Lorry was savage.

“Not a bit of it, my boy, not a bit of it. We’ll make a house-to-house canvass if the police fail us. Cheer up, cheer up!”

“You go to thunder!”

“Hold on! Don’t talk like that, or I’ll go back on you in a minute. I’m here because I choose to be, and I’ve more heart in the chase at this minute than you have. I’ve not lost hope, We’ll find the Guggenslockers if we have to hire detectives to trace ’em from the United States to their very doorstep. We’re going to see the police after breakfast.”

After breakfast they did go to see the Baron Dangloss. After some inquiry they found the gloomy, foreboding prison, and Mr. Anguish boldly pounded on the huge gates. A little shutter flew open, and a man’s face appeared. Evidently he asked what was wanted, but he might as, well have demanded their lives, so far were they from understanding his query.

“Baron Dangloss?” asked Anguish, promptly. The man asked something else, but as the Americans shook their heads deprecatingly, he withdrew his face and presently swung open the gates. They entered and he closed the doors behind them, locking them in. Then he directed them across the court to an open door in the aged mass of gray stone. As they strode away from the guard Lorry created consternation by demanding:

“How are we to talk to the Chief if he doesn’t understand us or we him? We should lave brought an interpreter.”

“I forgot about the confounded language. But if he’s real he can talk Irish.” Lorry told him he wasn’t funny.

“Is this His Excellency, Baron Dangloss?” asked Anguish, stepping into a small room and stopping suddenly in the presence of the short, fierce man they had seen the day before. The American spoke in French.

“It is, gentlemen. Of what service can I be to Messieurs Lorry and Anguish?” responded the grim little Chief, politely rising from beside his desk. The visitors looked at one another in surprise.

“If he knows our names on such short notice, he’ll certainly know the Guggenslockers,” said Anguish to his friend, in English.

“Ah, you are looking for some one named Guggenslocker?” asked the Chief, smiling broadly and speaking excellent English. “You must not be surprised, gentlemen. I speak many languages. I heard last night that you were inquiring about one Caspar Guggenslocker, and I have racked my brain, searched my books, questioned my officers, and I am sorry to inform you that there is no such person in Edelweiss.”

“I was so well assured of it, Baron Dangloss,” Lorry said.

“The name is totally unknown to me, sir. May I ask why you are searching for him?”

“Certainly. I met Mr. Guggenslocker, his wife and his niece last spring in the United States. They invited me to come and see them if I ever happened to be in this part of the world. As my friend and I were near here I undertook to avail myself of their invitation.”

“And they said they lived in Edelweiss, Graustark?”

“They did, and I’ll humbly confess I did not know much of the principality of Graustark.”

“That is certainly complimentary, but, then, we are a little out of the beaten path, so it is pardonable. I was at first under the impression that you were American detectives with extradition papers for criminals bearing the name you mention.”

“Oh!” gasped Anguish. “We couldn’t find ourselves if we should be separated, Captain.”

The grizzly-bearded Captain laughed lightly with them, and then asked Lorry if he would object to giving him the full story of his acquaintanceship with the alleged Graustarkians. The bewildered and disheartened American promptly told all he knew about them, omitting certain tender details, of course. As he proceeded the Chief grew more and more interested, and, when at last Lorry came to the description of the strange trio, he gave a sudden start, exposed a queer little smile for a second or so, and then was as sphynxlike as before. The ever-vigilant Anguish observed the involuntary start and smile, quick as the Chief had been to recover himself, and felt a thrill of triumph. To his anger and impatience, however, the old officer calmly shook his head at the end of the narrative, and announced that he was as much in the dark as ever.

“Well, we’ll search awhile for ourselves,” declared Anguish, stubbornly, not at all satisfied.

“You will be wasting your time,” said the Chief, meaningly.

“We’ve plenty to waste,” retorted the other.

After a few moments they departed, Baron Dangloss accompanying them to the gate and assuring them that he and his men always would be at their command. His nation admired the American people, he warmly declared.

“That old codger knows our people, and I’ll bet a thousand on it,” said Harry, angrily, when they had gone some little distance down the street. Then he told of the queer exposure Dangloss had unwittingly made. Lorry, more excited than he cared to show, agreed that there was something very suspicious about this new discovery.

They walked about the quaint town for an hour or two, examining the buildings, the people and the soldiery with deep interest. From the head of the main street,—Castle Avenue,—they could plainly see the royal palace, nearly a mile away. Its towers and turrets, gray and gaunt, ran up among the green tree-tops and were outlined plainly against the yellow hills. Countless houses studded the steep mountain slope, and many people were discerned walking and riding along the narrow, ledge-like streets which wound toward the summit, far up in the clouds. Clearly and distinctly could be seen the grim monastery, perched at the very pinnacle of the mountain, several miles away. Up there it looked bleak and cold and uninviting, in great contrast to the loveliness and warmth of the valley. Down below the grass was moist and soft, trees were approaching the stage where yellow and red tints mingle with the rich green, flowers were blooming, the land was redolent of the sweet fragrance of autumn, the atmosphere warm, clear and invigorating. It was paradise surmounted by desolation, drear and deadening.

Wherever the tall, distinguished Americans walked they formed the center of observation, and were the cause of comment that bore unmistakable signs of admiration. They bowed pleasantly to many of those who passed them, and received in return gracious and profound recognition. Military men saluted courteously; the women stared modestly and prettily—perhaps covetously; the merchants and citizens in general bowed and smiled a welcome that could not have been heartier. The strangers remarked the absence of vehicles on the main streets. There were pack mules and horses, human carriers—both male and female—but during the entire morning they saw not more than six or eight carriages. Vehicles were used solely by the quality and as a means of transportation for their persons only. Everybody, with the few exceptions mentioned, walked or rode horseback. The two friends were delighted with the place, and Anguish advocated a sojourn of several weeks, even though they did not find the Guggenslockers, his object being to secure photographs and sketches of the picturesque people and the strange scenery, and to idle away some hours upon the glittering boulevards. Grenfall, since he was in the project so deeply, was so nearly reconciled as to be exhilarated by the plan. They decided to visit the royal grounds in the afternoon, providing there was no prohibition, reserving a ride up the hill for the next day. A gendarme who spoke German fairly well told them that they could enter the palace park if they obtained a signed order from the chief steward, who might be found at any time in his home near the gates.

They were strolling leisurely toward the hotel, for the moment forgetting their quest in this strange, sunny land, when they espied a carriage, the most conspicuous of any they had seen. The white horses were gaily caparisoned, the driver and the footman beside him wore rich uniforms, the vehicle itself gleamed and glistened with gold and silver trimmings. A short distance behind rode two young soldiers, swords to their shoulders, scabbards clanking against their stirrups. Each was attired in the tight red trousers, shiny boots, close-fitting black coat with gilt trimmings, and the red cap which the Americans had noted before because of its brilliancy. People along the street were bowing deeply to the occupants, two ladies.

“Harry! Look!” exclaimed Lorry, clutching his friend’s arm like a vise. “There in the carriage—on this side!” His voice was hoarse and trembling.

“Miss Gug—Guggenslocker?” cried Anguish.

“Yes! Yes!” They had stopped and Lorry was grasping a garden wall with one hand.

“Then it’s funny nobody knows the name here. She seems to be someone of consequence. Good heaven, I don’t blame you! She’s the most beautiful—”

By this time the carriage was almost opposite and within forty feet of where they stood. The ladies, Miss Guggenslocker’s companion as young and almost as beautiful as herself had not observed the agitated two, but Lorry’s face was beaming, his hat was off, and he was ready to spring to the carriage side at a moment’s warning. Then the young girl at the side of the woman whose beauty had drawn a man half around the world saw the tall strangers, and called her companion’s attention to them. Once more Grenfall Lorry and Miss Guggenslocker were looking into each other’s eyes.

The lady started violently, her eyes grew wide, her lips parted, and her body was bent forward eagerly, a little gloved hand grasping the side of the open carriage. Her “ideal American” was bowing low, as was the tall fellow at his side. When he looked up again his eyes were glowing, his handsome face was flushed, and he saw her smile, blush furiously and incline her head gravely. The carriage had swept past, but she turned her head, and he detected an appealing glance in her eyes, a perplexed wrinkle across her brow, both of which were swept away an instant later by the most bewitching of smiles. Again her head was inclined, this time a trifle more energetically, and then the maddening face was turned from him. The equipage rolled onward, and there was no effort on her part to check its progress. The men were left standing alone and disappointed on the streets of Edelweiss, the object of their search slipping away as soon as she had been found. Her companion was amazed by the little scene, it was evident, judging by the eager look on her face as she turned with a question in her eyes.

“Turned down!” exclaimed the irrepressible Anguish, dolefully. “That’s pretty shabby treatment, old man. But she’s quite worth the journey.”

“I’ll not go back to America without her. Do you hear that, Harry Anguish?” He was excited and trembling. “But why didn’t she stop?” he went on, dismally.

“Oh, you dear old fool!” said Anguish.

The two stood looking after the carriage until it turned into a side street, half way down the shady stretch toward the castle. They saw her companion glance back, but could not tell whether she did or not. Lorry looked uneasily at Anguish, and the latter read his thought.

“You are wondering about the Guggenslocker name, eh? I’ll tell you what I’ve worked out during the past two minutes. Her name is no more Guggenslocker than mine is. She and the uncle used that name as a blind. Mark my words, she’s quality over here; that’s all there is about it. Now, we must find out just who she really is. Here comes a smart-looking soldier chap. Let’s ask him, providing we can make him understand.”

A young soldier approached, leisurely twirling a cane, for he was without his side arms. Anguish accosted him in French and then in German. He understood the latter and was very polite.

“Who was the young lady in the carriage that just passed?” asked Lorry, eagerly.

The face of the soldier flushed and then grew pale with anger.

“Hold on! I beg pardon, but we are strangers and don’t quite understand your ways. I can’t see anything improper in asking such a question,” said Anguish, attempting to detain him. The young man struck his hand from his arm and his eyes fairly blazed.

“You must learn our ways. We never pass comment on a lady. If you do so in your land, I am sorry for your ladies. I refuse to be questioned by you. Stand aside, fellow!”

Anguish stood aside in astonishment, and they watched the wrathful gallant strut down the street, his back as stiff as a board.

“Damned touchy!” growled Anguish.

“You remember what Sitzky said about their respect for the weaker sex. I guess we’d better keep off that tack or we’ll hatch up a duel or two. They seem to be fire-eaters. We must content ourselves witch searching out her home and without assistance, too. I’ve cooled off a bit, Harry, and, now that I’ve seen her, I’m willing to go slowly and deliberately. Let’s take our time and be perfectly cool. I am beginning to agree with your incog. proposition. It’s all clearing up in my mind now. We’ll go back to the hotel and get ready for the visit to the palace grounds.”

“Don’t you intend to hunt her up? ‘Gad, I wouldn’t miss a minute if I had a chance to be with a girl like that! And the other was no scarecrow. She is rather a beauty, too. Greatest town for pretty women I ever struck. Vienna is out of it entirely.”

They strolled on to the hotel, discussing the encounter in all its exhilarating details. Scarcely had they seated themselves on the piazza, after partaking of a light luncheon, when a man came galloping up to the walk in front of the hotel. Throwing his bridle rein to a guard, he hastened to the piazza. His attire was that of a groom and something about him reminded them of the footman who sat beside the driver of the carriage they had seen a short time before. He came straight to where the Americans sat smoking and, bowing low, held before them an envelope. The address was “Grenfall Lorry Esq.,” but the man was in doubt as to which was he.

Lorry grasped the envelope, tore it open, and drew forth a daintily written note. It read:

“My Dear Mr. Lorry:

“I was very much surprised to see you this morning—I may add that I was delighted. If you will accompany this messenger when he calls for you at three o’clock tomorrow afternoon, he will conduct you to my home, where I shall truly be charmed to see you again. Will you bring your friend?

“SOPHIA GUGGENSLOCKER.”

Lorry could have embraced the messenger. There was a suspicion of breathlessness in his voice when he tried to say calmly to Harry:

“An invitation for tomorrow.”

“I knew it would come that way.”

“Also wants you to come.”

“Sha’n’t I be in the way?”

“Not at all, my boy. I’ll accept for you. After this fellow goes, I’ll let you read the note. Wait until I write an answer.”

Motioning for the man to remain, he hastened to his room, pulled out some stationery, and feverishly wrote:

“My Dear Miss Guggenslocker:

“I shall be delighted to accompany your messenger tomorrow, and my friend, Mr. Harry Anguish, will be with me. I have come half way across the continent to see you, and I shall be repaid if I am with you but for a moment. You will pardon me if I say that your name has caused me despair. No one seems to have heard it here, and I was beginning to lose hope. You may expect me at three, and I thank you for the pleasure you bestow.

“Yours sincerely,

“GRENFALL LORRY.”

This note, part of which had been written with misgiving, he gave to the messenger, who rode away quickly.

“She didn’t wait long to write to you, I notice. Is it possible she is suffering from the effects of those three days on the other side of the Atlantic? Come to think of it, she blushed when she saw you this morning,” said Anguish. Lorry handed him her note, which he read and then solemnly shook hands with its recipient. “Congratulations. I am a very farsighted young man, having lived in Paris.”

CHAPTER VIII

THE ABDUCTION OF A PRINCESS

That afternoon they went to the palace grounds and inquired for the chief steward. After a few moments they were shown to his office in a small dwelling house just inside the gates. The steward was a red-faced little man, pleasant and accommodating. He could speak German—in fact, he was a German by birth—and they had no difficulty in presenting their request. Mr. Fraasch—Jacob Fraasch—was at first dubious, but their frank, eager faces soon gained for them his consent to see that part of the great park open to the public. Beyond certain lines they were not to trespass. Anguish asked how they could be expected to distinguish these lines, being unacquainted, and the steward grimly informed them that the members of the royal guard would establish the lines so plainly that it would be quite clear.

He then wrote for them a pass to the grounds of the royal palace of Graustark, affixing his seal. In giving this last to them he found occasion to say that the princess had instructed him to extend every courtesy possible to an American citizen. It was then that Anguish asked if he might be permitted to use his camera. There was an instant and emphatic refusal, and they were told that the pass would be rescinded if they did not leave the camera outside the gates. Reluctantly Anguish deposited his luckless box in the steward’s office, and they passed into the broad avenue which led towards the palace.

A guard, who served also as a guide, stepped to their side before they had taken ten paces. Where he came from they never knew, so instantaneous was his appearance. He remained with them during the two hours spent in the wonderful park.

The palace stood in the northwestern part of the grounds, possibly a half mile from the base of the mountain. Its front faced the mountain side. The visitors were not permitted to go closer than a quarter of a mile from the structure, but attained a position from which it could be seen in all its massive, ancient splendor. Anguish, who had studied churches and old structures, painted the castles on the Rhine, and was something of a connoisseur in architecture, was of the opinion that it had been standing for more than five hundred years. It was a vast, mediaeval mass of stone, covered with moss and ivy, with towers, turrets and battlements. There had been a moat in bygone days, but modern ideas had transformed the waterway into solid, level ground. This they learned afterwards. Broad avenues approached in several directions, the castle standing at the far side of a wide circle or parade ground. The open space before the balconies was fully three hundred yards square, and was paved. From each side stretched the velvety green with its fountains, its trees, its arbors, its flowers, its grottos and its red-legged soldiers.

The park was probably a mile square, and was surrounded by a high wall, on the top of which were little guard-houses and several masked cannon. In all their travels the Americans had not seen a more delightful bit of artifice, and they wandered about with a serene content that would have appealed to anyone but their voiceless guide. He led them about the place, allowing them to form their own conclusions, draw their own inferences and make their own calculations. His only acts were to salute the guards who passed and to present arms when he had conducted his charges to the edge of forbidden territory. When they had completed their tour of inspection their guide rapidly led the way to the wall that encircled the grounds, reaching it at a point not far from the castle itself. Here was situated another large gate, through which they did not pass. Instead, they ascended some steps and came out upon the high wall. The top of this wall was several feet wide, and walking was comparatively safe. They soon understood the guide’s design. The object was to walk along this wall until they reached the main gate. Why this peculiar course was to be taken they could not imagine at first. Anguish’s fertile brain came to the rescue. He saw a number of women in a distant part of the grounds, and, remembering their guide’s haste in conducting them to the wall, rightly conjectured that it was against custom for visitors to meet and gaze upon members of the royal household. The men and women, none of whom could be plainly distinguished from the far-away wall, were undoubtedly a part of the castle’s family, and were not to be subjected to the curious gaze of sightseers. Perhaps Her Royal Highness, the Princess of Graustark, was among them.

They reached the main gate and descended, Anguish securing his camera, after which they thanked the steward and turned to fee the guide. But he had disappeared as if the ground had swallowed him.

“Well, it’s a fair Versailles,” observed Anguish, as they walked down the street, glancing back at the frowning wall.

“It all goes to make me wonder why in the name of heaven we have never heard of this land of Graustark,” said Lorry, still thinking of the castle’s grandeur.

“My boy, there are lots of things we don’t know. We’re too busy. Don’t you remember that but one-half the world knows how the other half lives? I’ll wager there are not twenty-five people in the United States who know there is such a country as Graustark.”

“I don’t believe that a single soul over there has heard of the place,” vouchsafed Lorry, very truthfully.

“I’ll accept the amendment,” said Anguish. Then he proceeded to take a snap-shot of the castle from the middle of the street. He also secured a number of views of the mountain side, of some odd little dwelling houses, and two or three interesting exposures of red-robed children. Everybody, from the children up, wore loose robes, some red, some black, some blue, but all in solid colors. Beneath these robes were baggy trousers and blouses among the men, short skirts among the women. All wore low boots and a sort of turban. These costumes, of course, were confined to the native civilians. At the hotel the garb of the aristocrats was vastly different. The women were gowned after the latest Viennese patterns, and the men, except those of the army, wore clothes almost as smart as those which covered the Americans. Miss Guggenslocker—or whatever her name might be—and her carriage companion were as exquisitely gowned as any women to be seen on the boulevards or in Hyde Park of an afternoon.

It was late in the afternoon when they returned to the hotel. After dinner, during which they were again objects of interest, they strolled off towards the castle, smoking their cigars and enjoying the glorious air. Being a stranger in a strange land, Lorry acted on the romantic painter’s advice and also stuck a revolver in his pocket. He laughed at the suggestion tha there might be use for the weapon in such a quiet, model, well-regulated town, but Anguish insisted:

“I’ve seen a lot of these fellows around town who look like genuine brigands and cutthroats, and I think it just as well that we be prepared,” asserted he, positively, and his friend gratified what he called a whim.

At ten o’clock the slender moon dropped behind the mountain, and the valley, which had been touched with its tender light, gradually took on the somberness and stillness of a star-lit night. The town slumbered at eleven, and there were few lights to be seen in the streets or in the houses. Here and there strolled the white-uniformed police guards; occasionally soldiers hurried barracksward; now and then belated citizens moved through the dense shadows on the sidewalks, but the Americans saw still life in its reality. Returning from their stroll beside the castle-walls, far to the west of where they had entered the grounds that afternoon, they paused in the middle of Castle Avenue, near the main gate, and looked down the dark, deserted street, Far away could be seen the faint glare from their hotel; one or two street-lamps burned in the business part of the city; aside from these evidences of life there was nothing but darkness, silence, peacefulness about them everywhere.

“Think of Paris or New York at eleven o’clock,” said Lorry, a trifle awed by the solitude of the sleeping city.

“It’s as dead as a piece of prairie-land,” said his friend. “’Gad, it makes me sleepy to look down that street. It’s a mile to the hotel, too, Lorry. We’d better move along.”

“Let’s lie down near the hedge, smoke another cigar and wait till midnight. It is too glorious a night to be lost in sleep,” urged Lorry, whose heart was light over the joys of the day to come. “I can dream just as well here, looking at that dark old castle with its one little tower-light, as I could if I tried to sleep in a hard bed down at the hotel.”

Anguish, who was more or less of a dreamer himself, consented, and, after lighting fresh cigars, they threw themselves on the soft, dry grass near the tall hedge that fenced the avenue as it neared the castle grounds. For half an hour they talked by fits and starts; long silences were common, broken only by brief phrases which seemed so to disturb the one to whom they were addressed that he answered gruffly and not at all politely. Their cigars, burnt to mere stubs, were thrown away, and still the waking dreamers stretched themselves in the almost impenetrable shade of the hedge, one thinking of the face he had seen, the other picturing in his artist eye the painting he had vowed to create from the moon-lit castle of an hour ago.

“Some one coming,” murmured the painter, half rising to his elbow attentively.

“Soldiers,” said the other briefly. “They’ll not disturb us.”

“They’ll not even see us, I should say. It’s as dark as Egypt under this hedge. They’ll pass if we keep quiet.”

The figures of two men could be seen approaching from the city, dim and ghostly in the semi-blackness of the night. Like two thieves the Americans waited for them to pass. To their exceeding discomfiture, however, the pedestrians halted directly in front of their resting place and seated themselves leisurely upon a broad, flat stone at the roadside. It was too dark to see if they were soldiers, notwithstanding the fact that they were less than fifteen feet away.

“He should be here at twelve,” said one of the new comers in a low voice and in fairly good English. The other merely grunted. There was a silence of some duration, broken by the first speaker.

“If this job fails and you are caught it will mean years of servitude.”

“But in that case we are to have ten thousand gavvos apiece for each year we lie in prison. It’s fair pay—not only for our failure, but for our silence,” said the other, whose English was more difficult to understand.

Anguish’s fingers gripped Lorry’s leg, but there was no sound from either of the thoroughly aroused dreamers. “A plot, as I live,” thought each, with a thrill.

“We must be careful to speak only in English. There are not twenty people in Edelweiss who understand it, but the night has ears. It is the only safe tongue. Geddos speaks it well. He should be here.” It was the first speaker who uttered these words, little knowing that he had listeners other than the man to whom he spoke.

A dark figure shot across the roadway, and, almost before the Americans were aware of it, the party numbered three.

“Ah, Geddos, you are punctual.”

“I have found it ever a virtue.” responded the newcomer.

“Have you secured your men?”

“I have, your—”

“Sh! Call me Michael, on your life! They are ready and willing to undertake the venture?”

“Yes, but they do not understand the true conditions. I have told them that we are to rob the castle and carry the booty to Ganlook before morning.”

“They do not know the real object of the raid, then. That is as I desired. Are they trusty and experienced men?”

“The best—or the worst—that I could find in Vienna. Not one understands our language, and they are so ignorant of our town that they are entirely dependent on me. They know nothing whatever of the Princess, Michael, and will do only as they are told, realizing that if caught they will be guillotined. I have told them it is the royal palace we are to rifle. Ostrom, here, and I are the only ones, except yourself and the men who will aid us inside the castle, who know the truth, sir.”

“It cannot fail, unless those inside prove false or unworthy,” said the hoarse-voiced Ostrom. Anguish’s fingers were gripping Lorry’s leg so fiercely that the blood was ready to burst out, but he did not feel the pain. Here, then, was some gigantic plot in which the person of the Princess herself was to be considered. Was it an assassination?

“You have five of these Viennese?”

“Yes. Two to stand beneath the window to receive the booty as we lower it to the ground, one to stand guard at the west gate and two to attend the carriage and horses in the ravine beyond the castle.”

“When did these men arrive?”

“This morning. I kept them in my sister’s home until an hour ago. They are now in the ravine, awaiting Ostrom and myself. Are you sure, Michael, that the guards and the cook have been made to understand every detail? The faintest slip will mean ruin.”

“They are to be trusted fully. Their pay is to be high enough to make it an object to be infallible. The guard, Dushan, will leave the gate unwatched, and you will chloroform him—with his consent, of course. You will enter, as I have explained before, crawl along in the dark shadow of the wall until you reach the arbor that leads to the kitchen and scullery. Here another guard, Rabbo—known to Ostrom as a comrade in Her Royal Highness’s service not more than a year ago—will be encountered. He will be bound and gagged without the least noise or struggle. Just as the clock strikes two the cook will walk past the scullery window, in the basement, thrice, carrying a lighted candle. You will see this light through the window, and will know that all is well inside the castle. Ostrom, you will then lead the two Viennese to a place directly beneath the third window in the Princess’s sleeping apartment. There are several clumps of shrubbery there, and under these they will hide, protected from the gaze of any watchman who is not with us. You and Geddos will be admitted to the scullery by the cook, who will conduct you to the hall leading to Her Highness’s bed-room. The man who guards her door is called Dannox. He will not be at his post, but will accompany you when you leave the castle. You will understand how carefully you must enter her room and how deeply she must be chloroformed. In the adjoining room her lady-in-waiting, the Countess Dagmar, sleeps. If her door is ajar, you are to creep in and chloroform her, leaving her undisturbed. Then the Princess is to be wrapped in the cloth you take with you and lowered from the window to the men below. They are to remain in hiding until you have left the castle and have reached their side. It will not be difficult, if caution is observed, for you to get outside of the wall and to the carriage in the ravine. I have given you this plan of action before, I know, but I desire to impress it firmly upon your minds. There must not be the slightest deviation. The precision of clock-work is necessary.”

The man named Michael hissed the foregoing into the ears of his companions, the palsied Americans hearing every word distinctly. They scarcely breathed, so tremendous was the restraint imposed upon their nerves. A crime so huge, so daring as the abduction of a Princess, the actual invasion of a castle to commit the theft of a human being just as an ordinary burglar would steal in and make way with the contents of a silver chest, was beyond their power of comprehension.

“We understand fully how it is to be done, and we shall get her to Ganlook on time,” said Geddos, confidently.

“Not a hair of her head must be harmed,” cautioned the arch-conspirator. “In four days I shall meet you at Ganlook. You will keep her in close confinement until you hear from me. Have you the guard’s uniforms that you are to wear tonight?”

“They are with the carriage in the ravine; Ostrom and I will don them before going to the castle. In case we are seen they will throw observers off the track long enough for us to secure a good start in our flight.”

“Remember, there is to be no failure. This may mean death to you; certainly a long prison term if you are apprehended. I know it is a daring deed, but it is just of the kind that succeeds. Who would dream that mortal man could find the courage to steal a princess of the realm from her bed and spirit her away from under the very noses of her vaunted guardsmen? It is the bold, the impossible plan that wins.”

“We cannot fail if your men on the inside do their work well,” said Geddos, repeating what Ostrom had said. “All depends on their faithfulness.”

“They will not be found wanting. Your cut-throats must be sent on to Caias with the empty carriage after you have reached Ganlook in safety. You will need them no more. Ostrom will pay them, and they are to leave the country as quickly as possible. At Caias they will be able to join a pack-train that will carry them to the Great Northern Railroad. From there they will have no trouble in reaching Vienna. You will explain to them, Geddos. All we need them for, as you know, is to prove by their mere presence in case of capture that the attempt was no more than a case of burglary conceived by a band of Viennese robbers. There will be no danger of capture if you once get her outside the walls. You can be half way to Ganlook before she is missed from the castle. Nor can she be found at Ganlook if you follow the instructions I gave last night. It is now nearly one o’clock, and in half an hour the night will be as dark as Erebus. Go, men; you have no more time to lose, for this must be accomplished slowly, carefully, deliberately. There must be no haste until you are ready for the race to Ganlook. Go, but for God’s sake, do not harm her! And do not fail!”

“Failure means more to us than to you, Michael,” half whispered the hoarse Ostrom.

“Failure means everything to me! I must have her!”

Already the two hirelings were moving off toward the road that ran west of the castle grounds. Michael watched them for a moment and then started swiftly in the direction of the city. The watchers had not been able to distinguish the faces of the conspirators, but they could never forget the calm, cold voice of Michael, with its quaint, jerky English.

“What shall we do?” whispered Anguish when the men were out of hearing.

“God knows!” answered Lorry. “This is the most damnable thing I ever heard of. Are we dreaming? Did we really see and hear those men?” He had risen to his feet, his companion sitting weakly before him.

“There’s no question about it! It’s a case of abduction, and we have it in our power to spoil the whole job. By Gad, but this is luck, Gren!” Anguish was quivering with excitement as he rose to his feet. “Shall we notify old Dangloss or alarm the steward? There’s no time to be lost if we want to trap these fellows. The chief devil is bound to escape, for we can’t get him and the others, too, and they won’t peach on him. Come, we must be lively! What are you standing there for? Damn it, the trap must be set!”

“Wait! Why not do the whole job ourselves?”

“How-what do you mean?”

“Why should we alarm anybody? We know the plans as well as these scoundrels themselves. Why not follow them right into the castle, capture them red-handed, and then do the alarming? I’m in for saving the Princess of Graustark with our own hands and right under the noses of her vaunted guardsmen, as Michael says.” Lorry was thrilled by the spirit of adventure. His hand gripped his friend’s arm and his face was close to his ear. “It is the grandest opportunity two human beings ever had to distinguish themselves!”

“Great heaven, man! We can’t do such a thing!” gasped Anguish.

“It’s the easiest thing in the world. Besides, if we fail, we have nothing to lose. If we succeed, see what we’ve done! Don’t hesitate, old man! Come on! Come on! We’ll take ’em ourselves, as sure as fate. Have you no nerve? What kind of an American are you? This chance won’t come in ten lifetimes! Good God, man, are we not equal to those two scoundrels?”

“Two? There are at least ten of them!”

“You fool! The three guards are disposed of in advance, two of the Viennese are left with the horses, two are chucked off under the princess’ window, and one stands at the gate. We can slug the man at the gate, the fellows under the window are harmless, and that leaves but our two friends and the cook. We have every advantage in the world. Can’t you see?”

“You are right! Come on! I’ll risk it with you. We will save the Princess of Graustark!”

“Don’t you see it will be just as easy for us to enter the castle as for these robbers? The way will be clear, and will be kept clear. Jove, man, we need not be more than thirty seconds behind them. Is your pistol all right?”

By this time the two men were speeding along the grassy stretch toward the road that ran beside the wall. They looked to their pistols, and placed them carefully in outside coat pockets.

“We must throw away these heavy canes,” whispered the painter to his friend, who was a pace or so ahead.

“Keep it! We’ll need one of them to crack that fellow’s head at the gate. ‘Gad, it’s dark along here!”

“How the devil are we to know where to go?”

“We’ll stop when we come to the gate where we climbed up the wall today. That is the only entrance I saw along the west wall, and it is near the castle. Just as soon as the gang enters that gate we’ll crawl up and get rid of the fellow who stands watch.” It was so dark that they could barely see the roadway, and they found it necessary to cease talking as they slunk along beside the wall. Occasionally they paused to listen, fearing that they might draw too close upon the men who had gone before. At last they came to a big gate and halted.

“Is this the gate?” whispered Anguish.

“Sh! Yes, I’m quite sure. We are undoubtedly near the castle, judging by the distance we have come. Let us cross the road and lie directly opposite. Be careful!”

Like panthers they stole across the road and down a short, grassy embankment. At Anguish’s suggestion Lorry wrapped his handkerchief tightly about the heavy end of his cane, preparing in that way to deaden the sound of the blow that was to fall upon the Vienna man’s head. Then they threw aside their hats, buttoned their coats tightly, and sank down to wait, with bounding hearts and tingling nerves, the arrival of the abductors, mutely praying that they were at the right gate.

CHAPTER IX

THE EXPLOIT OF LORRY AND ANGUISH

During the half hour spent in the grassy ditch or gutter, they spoke not more than half a dozen times and in the faintest of whispers. They could hear the guard pacing the driveway inside the ponderous gate, but aside from his footsteps no sound was distinguishable. A sense of oppression came over the two watchers as the minutes grew longer and more deathlike in their stillness. Each found himself wondering why the leaves did not stir in the trees, why there were no nightbirds, no crickets, no croaking frogs, no sign of life save that steady, clocklike tread inside the wall. So dark was it that the wall itself was but a deeper shadow against the almost opaque blackness beyond. No night, it seemed to them, had ever been so dark, so still. After the oppression came the strange feeling of dread, the result of an enforced contemplation of the affair in which they were to take a hand, ignorant of everything except the general plan.

They knew nothing of the surroundings. If they failed, there was the danger of being shot by the guards before an explanation could be made. If they succeeded, it must be through sheer good fortune and not through prowess of mind or muscle. Once inside the castle, how could they hope to follow the abductors at a safe distance and still avoid the danger of being lost or of running into trusty guards? The longer they lay there the more hazardous became the part they had so recklessly ventured to play. In the heart of each there surged a growing desire to abandon the plan, yet neither could bring himself to the point of proposing the retreat from the inspired undertaking. Both knew the sensible, judicious act would be to alarm the guards and thus avoid all possible chance of a fiasco. With misgivings and doubts in their hearts the two self-appointed guardians of the Princess lay there upon the grass, afraid to give up the project, yet fearing the outcome.

“The dickens will be to pay, Lorry, if they dispose of this guard on the inside and lock the gate. Then how are we to follow?” whispered Anguish.

Lorry was thoughtful for a while. He felt the chill of discouragement in his heart.

“In that case we must lie outside and wait till they come out with the Princess. Then make a sudden assault and rescue her. In the darkness we can make them think there are a dozen rescuers,” he whispered at length. After a while Anguish asked another appalling question, the outgrowth of brain-racking study:

“Suppose these fellows, who will be in guards’ uniform, should turn about and capture us. What then? We are strangers, and our story would not be believed. They could slip away in the excitement and leave us in a very awkward position.”

“Harry, if we are going to hatch up all sorts of possibilities, let’s give up the thing right now. I have thought of a thousand contingencies, and I realize how desperate the job is to be. We must either cast discretion to the winds or we must retreat. Which shall we do?”

“Cast aside discretion and hang our fears,” said the other, once more inspired. “We’ll take chances and hope for the best. If we see we are going to fail we can then call for the guards. The grounds are doubtless full of soldiers. The only part I’m worried about is the groping through that strange, dark castle.”

“We must do some calculating and we must stick close together. By watching where they station the two Viennese we can figure about what direction we must take to get to the Princess’s room. Sh! Isn’t that some one approaching?”

They strained their ears for a moment and then involuntarily, spasmodically shook hands, each heaving the deep breath of excitement. The stealthy rustle of moving bodies was heard, faint, but positive. It was a moment of suspense that would have strained the nerve of a stone image. Where were the abductors? On which side of the road and from what direction did they come? Oh, for the eyes of a cat!

There was a slight shuffling of feet near the gate, a suppressed “Sh?” and then deathly silence. The gate opened, a faint creaking attesting the fact, followed by the heavy breathing of men, the noise of subdued activity, the scent of chloroform. Some whispering, and then the creaking of the gate.

“They’ve gone,” whispered Anguish. Lorry’s form arose to a crouching posture and a moment later he was crossing the road with the tread of a cat, his cane gripped firmly in his hard. Anguish followed with drawn revolver. So still was their approach that they were upon the figure of a man before they were aware of the fact. In the darkness the foremost American saw the outline of a human figure bending over a long object on the ground. He could smell chloroform strongly, and grasped the situation. The Viennese was administering the drug, his companions having left that duty for him to perform. No doubt the treacherous guardsman was lying calmly on his back, bound and gagged, welcoming unconsciousness with a smile of security.

As soon as Lorry gained his bearings fully he prepared to fell the wretch who was to stand watch. Anguish heard his friend’s figure suddenly shoot to an erect position. A whirring sound as of disturbed air and then a dull thud. Something rolled over on the ground, and all was still. He was at Lorry’s side in an instant.

“I hope I haven’t killed him,” whispered, Lorry. “Quick! Here is his bottle of ether. Hold it beneath his nose. I am going to pile the body of this guard crosswise on top of him. He will not be able to arise if he should recover consciousness.”

All this was done in a moment’s time, and the two trackers were headed for the entrance.

The gate was ajar two or three feet. With turbulent hearts, they stole through.

“Keep along the wall,” whispered Lorry, “and trust to luck. The castle is to the left.”

Without hesitation they crept over the noiseless grass, close beside the wall. Directly they heard sounds near at hand. The abductors were binding and chloroforming the guard at the arbor. After waiting for some moments they heard the party glide away in the darkness, and followed. The body of the guard was lying just outside the mouth of the arbor, and the odor of chloroform was almost overpowering. Once inside the long arbor, the Americans moved slowly and with greater caution. There was a dim light in a basement window ahead. Toward the front of the castle and in the second story a faint glow came from another window. They guessed it to be from the Princess’ room or from that of the countess.

At last they saw four figures steal past the dim basement light. One of them halted near the window, and three crept away in the darkness. Presently one of them returned, and all activity was at an end for the time being. How near it was to two o’clock the watchers could not tell. They only knew that they were within twenty-five feet of Geddos and Ostrom, and that they would not have long to wait.

Soon a bright little blaze of light crossed the basement opening. Then it returned, crossing a second time, and a third. All was still again. The soft shuffle of a foot, the rustle of arbor vines, and the form of a man crawled up to the window. With inconceivable stealth and carefulness it glided through the aperture, followed by a companion.

Lorry and Anguish were at the opening a second or two later, lying flat on their stomachs and listening for sounds from within. The dim light was still there, the window was open, and there was a sound of whispering. Lorry raised his head and peered through, taking calculations while the light made it possible. He saw an open door on the opposite side of the low room, with steps beyond, leading upward. Between the window and the door there were no obstacles. Up those steps he saw three men creep, the leader carrying the dim light. The door was left open, doubtless to afford unimpeded exit from the building in case of emergency. Harry Anguish touched Lorry’s arm.

“I took the two pistols from that Vienna man out there. We may need them. Here is one for yourself. Go first, Lorry,” he whispered.

Lorry stuck the revolver in his coat pocket and gently slid through the window to the floor below. His friend followed, and they paused to listen. Taking Anguish by the hand the other led the way straight to the spot where he remembered seeing the door.

Boldly the two men began the breathless ascent of the stone steps. The top was reached, and far ahead, down a narrow hall, they saw the three men and the dim light moving. Two of them wore uniforms of guards. Keeping close to the wall their followers crept after them. Up another flight of steps they went, and then through a spacious hall. The Americans had no time and no desire to inspect their surroundings. The wide doors at the far side of the room opened softly, and here the trio paused. Down a great marble hallway a dim red light shed its soft glow. It came from the lamp at the foot of the broad staircase.

The cook pointed to the steps, and then gave his thumb a jerk toward the left. Without the least sign of fear Geddos and Ostrom glided into the hall and made for the staircase. The watchers could not but feel a thrill of admiration for these daring wretches. But now a new danger confronted them. The cook remained standing in the doorway, watching his fellows in crime! How were they to pass him?

There was no time to be lost. The abductors were creeping up the steps already, and the cook must be disposed of. He had blown out the light which he carried, and was now a very dim shadow. Lorry glided forward and in an instant stood before the amazed fellow, jamming a pistol into his face.

“A sound and you die!” he hissed.

“Don’t move!” came another whisper, and a second revolver touched his ear. The cook, perhaps, did not know their language, but he certainly understood its meaning. He trembled, and would have fallen to the floor had not the strong hand of Lorry pinned him to the wall. The hand was on his throat, too.

“Chloroform him, Harry, and don’t let him make a sound!” whispered the owner of the hand. Anguish’s twitching fingers succeeded those of his friend on the cook’s throat, his pistol was returned to his pocket, and the little bottle came again into use.

“I’ll go ahead. Follow me as soon as you have finished this fellow. Be careful, and turn to the left when you come to the top.”

Lorry was off across the marble floor, headed for the stairway, and Anguish was left in charge of the cook, of whom he was to make short work. Now came the desperate, uncertain part of the transaction. Suppose he were to meet the two conspirators at the head of the stairs, or in the hall, or that the other traitor, Dannox, should appear to frustrate all. It was the most trying moment in the whole life of the reckless Lorry.

When near the top of the steps he hugged the high balustrade and cautiously peered ahead. He found himself looking down a long hall, at the far end of which, to his right, a dim light was burning. There was no sound and there was no sign of the two men, either to the right or to the left. His heart felt like lead! They evidently had entered the Princess’s room! How was he to find that room? Slowly he wriggled across the broad, dark hall, straightening up in the shadow of a great post. From this point he edged along the wall for a distance of ten or twelve feet to the left. A sound came from farther down the hall, and he imagined he heard some one approaching.

His hand came in contact with a heavy hanging or tapestry, and he quickly squirmed behind its folds, finding himself against a door which moved as his body touched it. He felt it swing open slightly and drew back, intending to return to the hall, uncertain and very much undecided as to the course to pursue. His revolver was in his hand. Just as he was about to pull aside the curtain a man glided past, quickly followed by another. Providence had kept him from running squarely into them. They were going toward the left, and he realized that they were now approaching the Princess’s room. How he came to be ahead of them he could not imagine. Strange trembling seized his legs, so great was the relief after the narrow escape. Again he felt the door move slightly as he pressed against it. The necessity for a partial recovery of his composure before the next and most important step, impelled him softly to enter the room for an instant’s breath.

Holding to the door he stood inside and drew himself to his full height, taking a long and tremulous breath. There was no light in the room, but through the door crack to his left came a dim, broad streak. He now knew where he was. This room was next to that in which the Princess slept, for had he not seen the light from her window? Perhaps he was now in the room of the Countess Dagniar. Next door! Next door! Even now the daring Geddos and Ostrom were crawling towards the bed of the ruler of Graustark, not twenty feet away. His first impulse was to cross and open the door leading to the next room, surmising that it would be unlocked, but he remembered Anguish, who was doubtless, by this time, stealing up the stairs. They must not be separated, for it would require two steady, cool heads to deal with the villains. It was not one man’s work. As he turned to leave the room he thought how wonderfully well they had succeeded in the delicate enterprise so far.

His knees struck the door, and there was a dull thump, not loud in reality, but like the report of a gun to him. A sudden rustle in the darkness of the room and then a sleepy voice, soft and quick, as of a woman awakening with a start.

“Who is it?”

His heart ceased beating, his body grew stiff and immovable. Again the voice, a touch of alarm in it now:

“Is that you, Donnox?”

She spoke in German, and the voice came from somewhere in front and to his right. He could not answer, could not move. The paralysis of indecision was upon him.

“How is it that the outer door is open?”

This time there was something like a reprimand in the tones, still low. He almost could see the wide-open, searching eyes.

CHAPTER X

YETIVE

There could be no further hesitation. Something must be done and instantly. He gently closed the door before answering the third question. In his nervousness he spoke in English, advancing to the middle of the room. Impossible to see the woman to whom he hissed this alarming threat-he only could speculate as to its effect:

“If you utter a sound, madam, I shall kill you. Be calm, and allow me to explain my presence here!”

He expected her to shriek, forgetting that she might not understand his words. Instead there was a deathly silence. Had she swooned? His heart was leaping with hope. But she spoke softly again, tremulously, and in English:

“You will find my jewels on the dressing table. Take them and go You will not hurt me?”

“I am not here to do you injury, but to serve your Princess,” whispered the man. “For God’s sake, do not make an outcry. You will ruin everything. Will you let me explain?”

“Go! Go! Take anything! I can be calm no longer. Oh, how can I expect mercy at your hands!” Her tones were rising to a wail of terror.

“Sh! Do you want to die?” he hissed, striding to the canopy bed, discernible as his eyes grew accustomed to the darkness. “I will kill you if you utter a sound, so help me God!”

“Oh!” she moaned.

“Listen! You must aid me! Do you hear?”

Another heart-breaking moan. “I am here to save the Princess. There is a plot to abduct her tonight. Already there are men in the castle, perhaps in her room. You must tell me where she sleeps. There is no time to be lost. I am no thief, before God! I am telling you the truth. Do not be alarmed, I implore you. Trust me, madam, and you will not regret it. Where does the Princess sleep?” He jerked out these eager, pleading words quickly, breathlessly.

“How am I to trust you?” came back a whisper from the bed.

“Here is a revolver! Take it and kill me if I attempt the slightest injury. Where are you?” He felt along the bed with his hand.

“Keep away! Please! Please!” she sobbed.

“Take the pistol! Be calm, and in heaven’s name help me to save her. Those wretches may have killed her already!”

The revolver dropped upon the clothes. He was bending eagerly over, holding the curtains back.

“My friend is in the hall. We have traced the men to the Princess’s door, I think. My God, be quick! Do you wish to see her stolen from under your eyes?”

“You are now in the Princess’s room,” answered the voice from the bed, calmer and with some alacrity. “Is this true that you tell me?”

“As God is my witness! And you—you—are you the Princess?” gasped the man, drawing back.

“I am. Where is Dannox?” She was sitting bolt upright in the bed, the pistol in her trembling fingers.

“He is one of the conspirators. One of the cooks and two other guards are in the plot. Can you trust me enough to leave your bed and hide in another part of the room? The scoundrels have mistaken the door, but they may be here at any moment. You must be quick! I will protect you—I swear it! Come, your Highness! Hide!”

Something in the fierce, anxious whisper gave her confidence. The miracle had been wrought! He had composed this woman under the most trying circumstances that could have teen imagined. She slipped from the bed and threw a long, loose silken gown about her.

“Who are you?” she asked, touching his arm.

“I am a foreigner—an American—Grenfall Lorry! Hurry!” he implored.

She did not move for a moment, but he distinctly heard her catch her breath.

“Am I dreaming?” she murmured, faintly. Her fingers now clutched his arm tightly.

“I should say not! I don’t like to order you around, your Highness, but—”

“Come—come to the light!” she interrupted, excitedly. “Over here!”

Noiselessly she drew him across the room until the light fell across his face. It was not a bright light, but what she saw satisfied her. He could not see her face, for she stood outside the strip of dusky yellow.

“Two men lie beneath your window, and two are coming to this room. Where shall I go? Come, be quick, madam! Do you want to be carted off to Ganlook? Then don’t stand there like a—like a—pardon me, I won’t say it.”

“I trust you fully. Shall I alarm the guard?” she whispered, recovering her self-possession.

“By no means. I want to catch those devils myself. Afterwards we can alarm the guards!”

“An ideal American!” she surprised him by saying. “Follow me!”

She led him to the doorway. “Stand here, and I will call the Countess. At this side, where it is dark.”

She opened the door gently and stood in the light for a second. He saw before him a graceful figure in trailing white, and then he saw her face. She was Miss Guggenslocker!

“My God!” he hoarsely gasped, staggering toward her. “You! You! The Princess?”

“Yes, I am the Princess,” she whispered, smiling as she glided away from his side. His eyes went round in his head, his legs seemed to be anywhere but beneath him, he felt as though he were rushing toward the ceiling. For the moment he was actually unconscious. Then his senses rushed back, recalling his mission and his danger.

“She is sleeping so soundly that I fear to awaken her,” whispered a soft voice at his back, and he turned. The Princess was standing in the doorway.

“Then pray stand back where you will be out of danger. They will be here in a moment, unless they have been frightened away.”

“You shall not expose yourself,” she said, positively. “Why should you risk your life now? You have accomplished your object. You have saved the Princess!”

“Ah—yes, the Princess!” he said. “And I am sorry you are the Princess,” he added, in her ear.

“Sh!” she whispered, softly.

The door through which he had first come was softly opened, and they were conscious that some one was entering. Lorry and the Princess stood in the dark shadow of a curtain, she close behind his stalwart figure. He could hear his own heart and hers beating, could feel the warmth of her body, although it did not touch his. His heart beat with the pride of possession, of power, with the knowledge that he had but to stretch out his hand and touch the one woman in all the world.

Across the dim belt of light from the open doorway in which they stood, crawled the dark figure of a man. Her hand unconsciously touched his back as if seeking reassurance.

He shivered beneath its gentle weight. Another form followed the first, pausing in the light to look toward their doorway. The abductor was doubtless remembering the instructions to chloroform the Countess. Then came the odor of chloroform. Oh, if Anguish were only there!

The second figure was lost in the darkness and a faint glow of light came from the canopied bed in the corner The chloroformer holding the curtains had turned his screen-lantern, toward the pillow in order to apply the dampened cloth. Now was the time to act!

Pushing the Princess behind the curtain and in the shelter of the door-post, Lorry leaped toward the center of the room, a pistol in each hand. Before him crouched the astonished desperadoes.

“If you move you are dead men!” said he, in slow decided tones. “Here, Harry!” he shouted. “Scoundrels, you are trapped! Throw up your hands!”

Suddenly the room was a blaze of light; flashing candles, lamps, sprung into life from the walls, while a great chandelier above his head dazzled him with its unexpected glare.

“Hell!” he shouted, half throwing his hands to his eyes.

Something rushed upon him from behind; there was a scream and then a stinging blow across the head and neck. As he sank helplessly, angrily, to his knees he heard the Princess wail:

“Dannox! Do not strike again! You have killed him!”

As he rolled to the floor he saw the two forms near the bed moving about like shadows: two red objects that resembled dancing telegraph poles leaped past him from he knew not where, and then there was a shout, the report of a pistol, a horrid yell. Something heavy crashed down beside him and writhed. His eyes were closing, his senses were going, he was numb and sleepy. Away off in the distance he heard Harry Anguish crying:

“That settles you, damn you!”

Some one lifted his head from the carpet and a woman’s voice was crying something unintelligible. He was conscious of an effort on his part to prevent the blood from streaming over her gown—a last bit of gallantry. The sound of rushing feet, shouts, firearms—oblivion!

* * * *

When Lorry regained consciousness, he blinked in abject amazement. There was a dull, whirring sound in his ears, and his eyes had a glaze over them that was slow in wearing off. There were persons in the room. He could see them moving about and could hear them talking. As his eyes tried to take in the strange surroundings, a hand was lifted from his forehead and a soft, dream-like voice said:

“He is recovering, Mr. Anguish. See, his eyes are open! Do you know me, Mr. Lorry?”

The unsteady eyes wandered until they fell upon the face near his pillow. A brighter gleam came into them, and there was a ray of returning intelligence. He tried to speak, but could only move his lips. As he remembered her, she was in white, and he was puzzled now to see her in a garment of some dark material, suggestive of the night or the green of a shady hillside. There was the odor of roses and violets and carnations. Then he looked for the fatal, fearful, glaring chandelier. It was gone. The room was becoming lighter and lighter as his eyes grew stronger, but it was through a window near where he lay. So it was daylight! Where was he?

“How do you feel, old man?” asked a familiar voice. A man sat down beside him on the couch or bed, and a big hand grasped his own. Still he could not answer.

“Doctor,” cried the voice near his head, “you really think it is not serious?”

“I am quite sure,” answered a man’s voice from somewhere out in the light. “It is a bad cut, and he is just recovering from the effect of the ether. Had the blow not been a glancing one his skull would have been crushed. He will be perfectly conscious in a short time. There is no concussion, your Highness.”

“I am so happy to hear you say that,” said the soft voice. Lorry’s eyes sought hers and thanked her. A lump came into his throat as he looked up into the tender, anxious blue eyes. A thrill came over him. Princess or not, he loved her—he loved her! “You were very brave—oh, so brave!” she whispered in his ear, her hand touching his hair caressingly. “My American!”

He tried to reach the hand before it faded, but he was too weak. She glided away, and he closed his eyes again as if in pain.

“Look up, old man; you’re all right,” said Anguish. “Smell this handkerchief. It will make you feel better.” A moist cloth was held beneath his nose, and a strong, pungent odor darted through his nostrils. In a moment he tried to raise himself to his elbow. The world was clearing up.

“Lie still a bit, Lorry. Don’t be too hasty. The doctor says you must not.”

“Where am I, Harry?” asked the wounded man, weakly.

“In the castle. I’ll tell you all about it presently.”

“Am I in her room?”

“No, but she is in yours. You are across the hall in”—here he whispered—”Uncle Caspar’s room. Caspar is a Count.”

“And she is the Princess—truly?”

“What luck!”

“What misery—what misery!” half moaned the other.

“Bosh! Be a man! Don’t talk so loud, either! There are a half-dozen in the room.”

Lorry remained perfectly quiet for ten minutes, his staring eyes fixed on the ceiling. He was thinking of the abyss he had reached and could not cross.

“What time is it?” he asked at last, turning his eyes toward his friend.

“It’s just seven o’clock. You have been unconscious or under the influence of ether for over four hours. That guard hit you a fearful crack.”

“I heard a shot—a lot of them. Was any one killed? Did those fellows escape?”

“Killed! There have been eight executions besides the one I attended to. Lord, they don’t wait long here before handing out justice.”

“Tell me all that happened. Was she hurt?”

“I should say not! Say, Gren, I have killed a man. Dannox got my bullet right in the head and he never knew what hit him. Ghastly, isn’t it? I feel beastly queer. It was he who turned on the lights and went at you with a club. I heard you call, and was in the door just as he hit you. His finish came inside of a second. You and he spoiled the handsomest rug I ever saw.”

“Ruined it?”

“Not in her estimation. I’ll wager she has it framed, blood and all. The stains will always be there as a reminder of your bravery, and that’s what she says she’s bound to keep. She was very much excited and alarmed about you until the room filled with men and then she remembered how she was attired. I never saw anything so pretty as her embarrassment when the Countess and her aunt led her into the next room. These people are going out, so I’ll tell you what happened after you left me with the cook. He was a long time falling under the influence, and I had barely reached the top of the stairs when I saw Dannox rush down the hall. Then you called, and I knew the jig was on in full blast. The door was open, and I saw him strike you. I shot him, but she was at your side before I could get to you. The other fellows who were in the room succeeded in escaping while I was bending over you, but neither of them shot at me. They were too badly frightened. I had sense enough left to follow and shoot a couple of times as they tore down the stairs. One of them stumbled and rolled all the way to the bottom. He was unconscious and bleeding when I reached his side. The other fellow flew toward the dining-hall, where he was nabbed by two white uniformed men and throttled. Other men in white—they were regular police officers—pounced upon me, and I was a prisoner. By George, I was knocked off my feet the next minute to see old Dangloss himself come puffing and blowing into the hall, redder and fiercer than ever. ‘Now I know what you want in Edelweiss!’ he shrieked, and it took me three minutes to convince him of his error. Then he and some of the men went up to the Princess’ room, while I quickly led the way to the big gate and directed a half-dozen officers toward the ravine. By this, time the grounds were alive with guards. They came up finally with the two fellows who had been stationed beneath the window and who were unable to find the gate. When I got back to where you were the room was full of terrified men and women, half dressed. I was still dazed over the sudden appearance of the police, but managed to tell my story in full to Dangloss and Count Halfont—that’s Uncle Caspar—and then the chief told me how he and his men happened to be there. In the meantime, the castle physician was attending to you. Dannox had been carried away. I never talked to a more interested audience in my life! There was the Princess at my elbow and the Countess—pretty as a picture—back of her, all eyes, both of ’em; and there was the old gray-haired lady, the Countess Halfont, and a half-dozen shivering maids, with men galore, Dangloss and the Count and a lot of servants,—a great and increasing crowd. The captain of the guards, a young fellow named Quinnox, as I heard him called, came in, worried and humiliated. I fancy he was afraid he’d lose his job. You see, it was this way: Old Dangloss has had a man watching us all day. Think of it! Shadowing us like a couple of thieves. This fellow traced us to the castle gate and then ran back for reinforcements, confident that we were there to rob. In twenty minutes he had a squad of officers at the gate, the chief trailing along behind. They found the pile of tools we had left there, and later the other chap in the arbor. A couple of guards came charging up to learn the cause of the commotion, and the whole crew sailed into the castle, arriving just in time. Well, just as soon as I had told them the full story of the plot, old Caspar, the chief and the captain held a short consultation, the result of which I can tell in mighty few words. At six o’clock they took the whole gang of prisoners down in the ravine and shot them. The mounted guards are still looking for the two Viennese who were left with the carriage. They escaped. About an hour after you were hurt you were carried over here and laid on this couch. I want to tell you, Mr. Lorry, you are the most interesting object that ever found its way into a royal household. They have been hanging over you as if you were a new-born baby, and everybody’s charmed because you are a boy and are going to live. As an adventure this has been a record-breaker, my son! We are cocks of the walk!”

Lorry was smiling faintly over his enthusiasm.

“You are the real hero, Harry, You saved my life and probably hers. I’ll not allow you or anybody to give me the glory,” he said, pressing the other’s hand.

“Oh, that’s nonsense! Anybody could have rushed in as I did. I was only capping the climax you had prepared—merely a timely arrival, as the novels say. There is a little of the credit due me, of course, and I’ll take it gracefully, but I only come in as an accessory, a sort of bushwhacker who had only to do the shoot, slap-bang work and close the act. You did the hero’s work. But what do you think of the way they hand out justice over here? All but two of ’em dead!”

“Whose plan was it to kill those men?” cried Lorry, suddenly sitting upright.

“Everybody’s, I fancy. They didn’t consult me, though, come to think of it. Ah, here is Her Royal Highness!”

The Princess and Aunt Yvonne were at his side again, while Count Caspar was coming rapidly toward them.

“You must not sit up, Mr. Lorry,” began the Princess, but he was crying:

“Did they make a confession, Harry?”

“I don’t know. Did they, Unc—Count Halfont? Did they confess? Great heavens, I never thought of that before.”

“What was there to confess?” asked the Count, taking Lorry’s hand kindly. “They were caught in the act. My dear sir, they were not even tried.”

“I thought your police chief was such a shrewd man,” cried Lorry, angrily.

“What’s that?” asked a gruff voice, and Baron Dangloss was a member of the party, red and panting.

“Don’t you know you should not have killed those men?” demanded Lorry. They surveyed him in amazement, except Anguish, who had buried his face in his hands dejectedly.

“And, sir, I’d like to know why not?” blustered Dangloss.

“And, sir, I’d like to know, since you have shot the only beings on earth who knew the man that hired them, how in the name of your alleged justice you are going to apprehend him?” said Lorry, sinking back to his pillow, exhausted.

No reserve could hide the consternation, embarrassment and shame that overwhelmed a very worthy but very impetuous nobleman, Baron Jasto Dangloss, chief of police in Edelweiss. He could only sputter his excuses and withdraw, swearing to catch the arch-conspirator or to die in the attempt. Not a soul in the castle, not a being in all Graustark could offer the faintest clew to the identity of the man or explain his motive. No one knew a Michael, who might have been inadvertently addressed as “your” possible “Highness.” The greatest wonder reigned; vexation, uneasiness and perplexity existed everywhere.

Standing there with her head on her aunt’s shoulder, her face grave and troubled, the Princess asked:

“Why should they seek to abduct me? Was it to imprison or to kill me? Oh, Aunt Yvonne, have I not been good to my people? God knows I have done all that I can. I could have done no more. Is it a conspiracy to force me from the throne? Who can be so cruel?”

And no one could answer. They could simply offer words of comfort and promises of protection. Later in the day gruff Dangloss marched in and apologized to the Americans for his suspicions concerning them, imploring their assistance in running down the chief villain. And as the hours went by Count Halfont font came in and, sitting beside Grenfall, begged his pardon and asked him to forget the deception that had been practiced in the United States. He explained the necessity for traveling incognito at that time. After which the Count entered a plea for Her Royal Highness, who had expressed contrition and wished to be absolved.

CHAPTER XI

LOVE IN A CASTLE

As the day wore on Lorry grew irritable and restless. He could not bring himself into full touch with the situation, notwithstanding Harry’s frequent and graphic recollections of incidents that had occurred and that had led to their present condition. Their luncheon was served in the Count’s room, as it was inadvisable for the injured man to go to the dining-hall until he was stronger. The court physician assured him that he would be incapacitated for several days, but that in a very short time his wound would lose the power to annoy him in the least. The Count and Countess Halfont, Anguish and others came to cheer him and to make his surroundings endurable. Still he was dissatisfied, even unhappy.

The cause of his uneasiness and depression was revealed only by the manner in which it was removed. He was lying stretched out on the couch, staring from the window, his head aching; his heart full of a longing that knows but one solace. Anguish had gone out in the grounds after assuring himself that his charge was asleep, so there was no one in the room when he awakened from a sickening dream to shudder alone over its memory. A cool breeze from an open window fanned his head kindly; a bright sun gleamed across the trees, turning them into gold and purple and red and green; a quiet repose was in all that touched him outwardly; inwardly there was burning turmoil. He turned on his side and curiously felt the bandages about his head. They were tight and smooth, and he knew they were perfectly white. How lonely those bandages made him feel, away off there in Graustark!

The door to his room opened softly, but he did not turn, thinking it was Anguish—always Anguish—and not the one he most desired to—

“Her Royal Highness,” announced a maid, and then—

“May I come in?” asked a voice that went to his troubled soul like a cooling draught to the fevered throat. He turned toward her instantly, all the irritation, all the uneasiness, all the loneliness vanishing like mist before the sun. Behind her was a lady-in-waiting.

“I cannot deny the request of a princess,” he responded, smiling gaily. He held forth his hand toward her, half fearing she would not take it.

The Princess Yetive came straight to his couch and laid her hand in his. He drew it to his lips and then released it lingeringly. She stood before him, looking down with an anxiety in her eyes that would have repaid him had death been there to claim his next breath.

“Are you better?” she asked, with her pretty accent. “I have been so troubled about you.”

“I thought you had forgotten me,” he said, with childish petulance.

“Forgotten you!” she cried, quick to resent the imputation. “Let me tell you, then, what I have been doing while forgetting. I have sent to the Regengetz for your luggage and your friend’s. You will find it much more comfortable here. You are to make this house your home as long as you are in Edelweiss. That is how I have been forgetting.”

“Forgive me!” he cried, his eyes gleaming. “I have been so lonely that I imagined all sorts of things. But, your Highness, you must not expect us to remain here after I am able to leave. That would be imposing—”

“I will not allow you to say it!” she objected, decisively. “You are the guest of honor in Graustark. Have you not preserved its ruler? Was it an imposition to risk your life to save one in whom you had but passing interest, even though she were a poor princess? No, my American, this castle is yours, in all rejoicing, for had you not come within its doors today would have found it in mournful terror. Besides, Mr. Anguish has said he will stay a year if we insist.”

“That’s like Harry,” laughed Lorry. “But I am afraid you are glorifying two rattlebrained chaps who should be in a home for imbeciles instead of in the castle their audacity might have blighted. Our rashness was only surpassed by our phenomenal good luck. By chance it turned out well; there were ten thousand chances of ignominious failure. Had we failed would we have been guests of honor? No! We would have been stoned from Graustark. You don’t know how thin the thread was that held your fate. It makes me shudder to think of the crime our act might have been. Ah, had I but known you were the Princess, no chances should have been taken,” he said, fervently.

“And a romance spoiled,” she laughed.

“So you are a princess,—a real princess,” he went on, as if he had not heard her. “I knew it. Something told me you were not an ordinary woman.”

“Oh, but I am a very ordinary woman,” she remonstrated. “You do not know how easy it is to be a princess and a mere woman at the same time. I have a heart, a head. I breathe and eat and drink and sleep and love. Is it not that way with other women?”

“You breathe and eat and drink and sleep and love in a different world, though, your Highness.”

“Ach! my little maid, Therese, sleeps as soundly, eats as heartily and loves as warmly as I, so a fig for your argument.”

“You may breathe the same air, but would you love the same man that your maid might love?”

“Is a man the only excuse for love?” she asked. “If so, then I must say that I breathe and eat and drink and sleep—and that is all.”

“Pardon me, but some day you will find that love is a man, and”—here he laughed—”you will neither breathe, nor eat, nor sleep except with him in your heart. Even a princess is not proof against a man.”

“Is a man proof against a princess?” she asked, as she leaned against the casement.

“It depends on the”—he paused “the princess, I should say.”

“Alas! There is one more fresh responsibility acquired. It seems to me that everything depends on the princess,” she said, merrily.

“Not entirely,” he said, quickly. “A great deal—a very great deal—depends on circumstances. For instance, when you were Miss Guggenslocker it wouldn’t have been necessary for the man to be a prince, you know.”

“But I was Miss Guggenslocker because a man was unnecessary,” she said, so gravely that he smiled. “I was without a title because it was more womanly than to be a ‘freak,’ as I should have been had every man, woman and child looked upon me as a princess. I did not travel through your land for the purpose of exhibiting myself, but to learn and unlearn.”

“I remember it cost you a certain coin to learn one thing,” he observed.

“It was money well spent, as subsequent events have proved. I shall never regret the spending of that half gavvo. Was it not the means of bringing you to Edelweiss?”

“Well, it was largely responsible, but I am inclined to believe that a certain desire on my part would have found a way without the assistance of the coin. You don’t know how persistent an American can be.”

“Would you have persisted had you known I was a princess?” she asked.

“Well, I can hardly tell about that, but you must remember I didn’t know who or what you were.”

“Would you have come to Graustark had you known I was its princess?”

“I’ll admit I came because you were Miss Guggenslocker.”

“A mere woman.”

“I will not consent to the word ‘mere.’ What would you think of a man who came half-way across the earth for the sake of a mere woman?”

“I should say he had a great deal of curiosity,” she responded, coolly.

“And not much sense. There is but one woman a man would do so much for, and she could not be a mere woman in his eyes.” Lorry’s face was white and his eyes gleamed as he hurled this bold conclusion at her.

“Especially when he learns that she is a princess!” said she, her voice so cold and repellent that his eyes closed, involuntarily, as if an unexpected horror had come before them. “You must not tell me that you came to see me.

“But I did come to see you and not Her Royal Highness the Princess Yetive of Graustark stark. How was I to know?” he cried impulsively.

“But you are no longer ignorant,” she said, looking from the window.

“I thought you said you were a mere woman!”

“I am—and that is the trouble!” she said, slowly turning her eyes back to him. Then she abruptly sank to the window seat near his head. “That is the trouble, I say. A woman is a woman, although she be a princess. Don’t you understand why you must not say such things to me?”

“Because you are a princess,” he said, bitterly.

“No; because I am a woman. As a woman I want to hear them, as, a princess I cannot. Now, have I made you understand? Have I been bold enough?” Her face was burning.

“You—you don’t mean that you—” he half whispered, drawing himself toward her, his face glowing.

“Ach! What have I said?”

“You have said enough to drive me mad with desire for more,” he cried, seizing her hand, which she withdrew instantly, rising to her feet.

“I have only said that I wanted to hear you say you had come to see me. Is not that something for a woman’s vanity to value? I am sorry you have presumed to misunderstand me.” She was cold again, but he was not to be baffled.

“Then be a woman and forget that you are a princess until I tell you why I came,” he cried.

“I cannot! I mean, I will not listen to you,” she said, glancing about helplessly, yet standing still within the danger circle.

“I came because I have thought of you and dreamed of you since the day you sailed from New York. God, can I ever forget that day!”

“Please do not recall—” she began, blushing and turning to the window.

“The kiss you threw to me? Were you a princess then?” She did not answer, and he paused for a moment, a thought striking him which at first he did not dare to voice. Then he blurted it out. “If you do not want to hear me say these things, why do you stand there?”

“Oh,” she faltered.

“Don’t leave me now. I want to say what I came over here to say, and then you can go back to your throne and your royal reserve, and I can go back to the land from which you drew me. I came because I love you. Is not that enough to drag a man to the end of the world? I came to marry you if I could, for you were Miss Guggenslocker to me. Then you were within my reach, but not now! I can only love a princess!” He stopped because she had dropped to the couch beside him, her serious face turned appealingly to his, her fingers clasping his hands fiercely.

“I forbid you to continue—I forbid you! Do you hear? I, too, have thought and dreamed of you, and I have prayed that you might come. But you must not tell me that you love me-you shall not!”

“I only want to know that you love me,” he whispered.

“Do you think I can tell you the truth?” she cried. “I do not love you!”

Before he had fairly grasped the importance of the contradictory sentences, she left his side and stood in the window, her breast heaving and her face flaming.

“Then I am to believe you do,” he groaned, after a moment. “I find a princes and lose a woman!”

“I did not intend that you should have said what you have, or that I should have told you what I have. I knew you loved me or you would not have come to me,” she said, softly.

“You would have been selfish enough to enjoy that knowledge without giving joy in return. I see. What else could you have done? A princess! Oh, I would to God you were Miss Guggenslocker, the woman I sought!”

“Amen to that!” she said. “Can I trust you never to renew this subject? We have each learned what had better been left unknown. You understand my position. Surely you will be good enough to look upon me ever afterward as a princess and forget that I have been a woman unwittingly. I ask you, for your sake and my own, to refrain from a renewal of this unhappy subject. You can see how hopeless it is for both of us. I have said much to you that I trust you will cherish as coming from a woman who could not have helped herself and who has given to you the power to undo her with a single word. I know you will always be the brave, true man my heart has told me you are. You will let the beginning be the end?”

The appeal was so earnest, so noble that honor swelled in his heart and came from his lips in this promise:

“You may trust me, your Highness. Your secret is worth a thousand-fold more than mine. It is sacred with me. The joy of my life has ended, but the happiness of knowing the truth will never die. I shall remember that you love me—yes, I know you do,—and I shall never forget to love you. I will not promise that I shall never speak of it again to you. As I lie here, there comes to me a courage I did not know I could feel.”

“No, no!” she cried, vehemently.

“Forgive me! You can at least let me say that as long as I live I may cherish and encourage the little hope that all is not dead. Your Highness, let me say that my family never knows when it is defeated, either in love or in war.”

“The walls which surround the heart of a princess are black and grim, impenetrable when she defends it, my boasting American,” she said, smiling sadly.

“Yet some prince of the realm will batter down the wall and win at a single blow that which a mere man could not conquer in ten lifetimes. Such is the world.”

“The prince may batter down and seize, but he can never conquer. But enough of this! I am the Princess of Graustark; you are my friend, Grenfall Lorry, and there is only a dear friendship between us,” she cried, resuming her merry humor so easily that he started with surprise and not a little displeasure.

“And a throne,” he added, smiling, how ever.

“And a promise,” she reminded him.

“From which I trust I may some day be released,” said he, sinking back, afflicted with a discouragement and a determination of equal power. He could see hope and hopelessness ahead.

“By death!”

“No; by life! It may be sooner than you think!”

“You are forgetting your promise already.”

“Your Highness’s pardon,” he begged.

They laughed, but their hearts were sad, this luckless American and hapless sovereign who would, if she could, be a woman.

“It is now three o’clock—the hour when you were to have called to see me,” she said, again sitting unconcernedly before him in the window seat. She was not afraid of him. She was a princess.

“I misunderstood you, your highness. I remembered the engagement, but it seems I was mistaken as to the time. I came at three in the morning!”

“And found me at home!”

“In an impregnable castle, with ogres all about.”

CHAPTER XII

A WAR AND ITS CONSEQUENCES

Lorry was removed to another room before dinner, as she had promised.

After they had dined the two strangers were left alone for several hours. Anguish regaled his friend with an enthusiastic dissertation on the charms of the Countess Dagmar, lady-in-waiting to the Princess. In conclusion he said glowingly, his cigar having been out for half an hour or more because his energy had been spent in another direction.

“You haven’t seen much of her, Lorry, but I tell you she is rare. And she’s not betrothed to any of these confounded counts or dukes either. They all adore her but she’s not committed.”

“How do you know all this?” demanded Lorry, who but half heard through his dreams.

“Asked her, of course. How in thunder do you suppose?”

“And you’ve known her but a day? Well, you are progressive.”

“Oh, perfectly natural conversation, you know,” explained Anguish, composedly. “She began it by asking me if I were married, and I said I wasn’t even engaged. Then I asked her if she were married. You see, from the title, you can’t tell whether a countess is married or single. She said she wasn’t, and I promptly and very properly expressed my amazement. By Jove, she has a will and a mind of her own, that young woman has. She’s not going to marry until she finds a man of the right sort—which is refreshing. I like to hear a girl talk like that, especially a pretty girl who can deal in princes, counts and all kinds of nobility when it comes to a matrimonial trade. By Jove, I’m sorry for the Princess, though.”

“Sorry for the Princess? Why?” asked the other, alert at once.

“Oh, just because it’s not in her power to be so independent. The Countess says she cries every night when she thinks of what the poor girl has to contend with.”

“Tell me about it.”

“I don’t know anything to tell. I’m not interested in the Princess, and I didn’t have the nerve to ask many questions. I do know, however, that she is going to have an unpleasant matrimonial alliance forced upon her in some way.” “That is usual.

“That’s what I gather from the Countess. Maybe you can pump the Countess and get all you want to know in connection with the matter. It’s a pretty serious state of affairs, I should say, or she wouldn’t be weeping through sympathy.”

Lorry recalled a part of the afternoon’s sweetly dangerous conversation and the perspiration stood cold and damp on his brow.

“Well, old man, you’ve chased Miss Guggenslocker to earth only to find her an impossibility. Pretty hopeless for you, Lorry, but don’t let it break you up completely. We can go back home after a while and you will forget her. A countess, of course, is different.”

“Harry, I know it is downright madness for me to act like this,” said Lorry, his jaws set and his hands clenched as he raised himself to his elbow. “You don’t know how much I love her.”

“Your nerve is to be admired, but—well, I’m sorry for you.”

“Thanks for your sympathy. I suppose I’ll need it,” and he sank back gloomily. Anguish was right—absurdly right.

There was a rap at the door and Anguish hastened to open it. A servant presented Count Halfort’s compliments and begged leave to call.

“Shall we see the old boy?” asked Harry.

“Yes, yes,” responded the other. The servant understood the sign made by Anguish and disappeared. “Diplomatic call, I suspect.”

“He is the prime minister, I understand. Well, we’ll diplome with him until bed-time, if he cares to stay. I’m getting rather accustomed to the nobility. They are not so bad, after all. Friendly and all that—Ah, good evening, your excellency! We are honored.”

The Count had entered the room and was advancing toward the couch, tall, easy and the personification of cordiality.

“I could not retire until I had satisfied myself as to Mr. Lorry’s condition and his comfort,” said he, in his broken English. He seated himself near the couch and bent sharp, anxious eyes on the recumbent figure.

“Oh, he’s all right,” volunteered Anguish, readily. “Be able to go into battle again tomorrow.”

“That is the way with you aggressive Americans. I am told. They never give up until they are dead,” said the Count, courteously. “Your head is better?”

“It does not pain me as it did, and I’m sure I’ll be able to get out tomorrow. Thank you very much for your interest,” said Lorry. “May I inquire after the health of the Countess Halfont? The excitement of last night has not had an unpleasant effect, I hope.”

“She is with the Princess, and both are quite well. Since our war, gentlemen, Graustark women have nothing to acquire in the way of courage and endurance. You, of course, know nothing of the horrors of that war.”

“But we would be thankful for the story of it, your excellency. War is a hobby of mine. I read every war scare that gets into print,” said Anguish, eagerly.

“We, of Graustark, at present have every reason to recall the last war and bitterly to lament its ending. The war occurred just fifteen years ago—but will the recital tire you, Mr. Lorry? I came to spend a few moments socially and not to go into history. At any other time I shall be—”

“It will please and not tire me. I am deeply interested. Pray go on,” Lorry hastened to say, for he was interested more than the Count suspected.

“Fifteen years ago Prince Ganlook, of this principality,—the father of our princess,—became incensed over the depredations of the Axphain soldiers who patrolled our border on the north. He demanded restitution for the devastation they had created, but was refused. Graustark is a province comprising some eight hundred square miles of the best land in this part of the world. Our neighbor is smaller in area and population. Our army was better equipped but not so hardy. For several months the fighting in the north was in our favor, but the result was that our forces were finally driven back to Edelweiss, hacked and battered by the fierce thousands that came over the border. The nation was staggered by the shock, for such an outcome had not been considered possible. We had been too confident. Our soldiers were sick and worn by six months of hard fighting, and the men of Edelweiss—the merchants, the laborers and the nobility itself—flew to arms in defense of the city. For over a month we fought, hundreds of our best and bravest citizens going down to death. They at last began a bombardment of the city. Today you can see they marks on nearly every house in Edelweiss. Hundreds of graves in the valley to the south attest the terrors of that siege. The castle was stormed, and Prince Ganlook, with many of the chief men of the land, met death. The prince was killed in front of the castle gates, from which he had sallied in a last, brave attempt to beat off the conquerors. A bronze statue now marks the spot on which he fell. The Princess, his wife, was my sister, and as I held the portfolio of finance, it was through me that the city surrendered, bringing the siege to an end. Fifteen years ago this autumn—the twentieth of November, to be explicit—the treaty of peace was signed in Sofia. We were compelled to cede a portion of territory in the far northeast, valuable for its mines. Indemnity was agreed upon by the peace commissioners, amounting to 20,000,000 gavvos, or nearly $30,000,000 in your money. In fifteen years this money was to be paid, with interest. On the twentieth of November, this year, the people of Graustark must pay 25,000,000 gavvos. The time is at hand, and that is why we recall the war so vividly. It means the bankruptcy of the nation, gentlemen.”

Neither of his listeners spoke for some moments. Then Lorry broke the silence.

“You mean that the money cannot be raised?” he asked.

“It is not in our treasury. Our people have been taxed so sorely in rebuilding their homes and in recuperating from the effect of that dreadful invasion that they have been unable to pay the levies. You must remember that we are a small nation and of limited resources. Your nation could secure $30,000,000 in one hour for the mere asking. To us it is like a death blow. I am not betraying a state secret in telling you of the sore straits in which we are placed, for every man in the nation has been made cognizant of the true conditions. We are all facing it together.” There was something so quietly heroic in his manner that both men felt pity. Anguish, looking at the military figure, asked: “You fought through the war, your excellency?”

“I resigned as minister, sir, to go to the front. I was in the first battle and I was in the last,” he said, simply.

“And the Princess,—the present ruler, I mean,—was a mere child at that time. When did she succeed to the throne?” asked Lorry.

“Oh, the great world does not remember our little history! Within a year after the death of Prince Ganlook, his wife, my sister, passed away, dying of a broken heart. Her daughter, their only child, was, according to our custom, crowned at once. She has reigned for fourteen years, and wisely since assuming full power. For three years she has been ruler de facto. She has been frugal, and has done all in her power to meet the shadow that is descending.”

“And what is the alternative in case the indemnity is not paid?” asked Lorry, breathlessly, for he saw something bright in the approaching calamity.

“The cession of all that part of Graustark lying north of Edelweiss, including fourteen towns, all of our mines and our most productive farming and grazing lands. In that event Graustark will be no larger than one of the good-sized farms in your western country. There will be nothing left for Her Royal Highness to rule save a tract so small that the word principality will be a travesty and a jest. This city and twenty-five miles to the south, a strip about one hundred fifty miles long. Think of it! Twenty-five by one hundred fifty miles, and yet called a principality! Once the proudest and most prosperous state in the east, considering its size, reduced to that! Ach, gentlemen—gentlemen! I cannot think of it without tearing out a heart-string and suffering such pains as mortal man has never endured. I lived in Graustark’s days of wealth, power and supremacy; God has condemned me to live in the days of her dependency, weakness and poverty. Let us talk no more of this unpleasant subject.”

His hearers pitied the frank, proud old man from the bottoms of their hearts. He had told them the story with the candor and simplicity of a child, admitting weakness and despondency. Still he sat erect and defiant, his face white and drawn, his figure suggesting the famous picture of the stag at bay.

“Willingly, your excellency, since it is distasteful to you. I hope, however, you will permit me to ask how much you are short of the amount,” said Lorry, considerately yet curiously.

“Our minister of finance, Gaspon, will be able to produce fifteen million gavvos at the stated time—far from enough. This amount has been sucked from the people from excessive levy, and has been hoarded for the dreaded day. Try as we would, it has been impossible to raise the full amount. The people have been bled and have responded nobly, sacrificing everything to meet the treaty terms honorably, but the strain has been too great. Our army has cost us large sums. We have strengthened our defenses, and could, should we go to war, defeat Axphain. But we have our treaty to honor; we could not take up arms to save ourselves from that honest bond. Our levies have barely brought the amount necessary to, maintain an army large enough to inspire respect among those who are ready to leap upon us the instant we show the least sign of distress. There are about us powers that have held aloof from war with us simply because we have awed them with our show of force. It has been our safeguard, and there is not a citizen of Graustark who objects to the manner in which state affairs are conducted. They know that our army is an economy at any price. Until last spring we were confident that we could raise the full amount due Axphain, but the people in the rural districts were unable to meet the levies on account of the panic that came at a most unfortunate time. That is why we were hurrying home from your country, Mr. Lorry. Gaspon had cabled the Princess that affairs were in a hopeless condition, begging her to come home and do what she could in a final appeal to the people, knowing the love they had for her. She came, and has seen these loyal subjects offer their lives for her and for Graustark, but utterly unable to give what they have not—money. She asked them if she should disband the army, and there was a negative wail from one end of the land to the other. Then the army agreed to serve on half pay until all was tided over. Public officers are giving their services free, and many of our wealthy people have advanced loans on bonds, worthless as they may seem, and still we have not the required amount.”

“Cannot the loan be extended a few years?” asked Lorry, angry with the ruler in the north, taking the woes of Graustark as much to heart as if they were his own.

“Not one day! Not in London, Paris, nor Berlin.”

Lorry lay back and allowed Anguish to lead the conversation into other channels. The Count remained for half an hour, saying as he left that the Princess and his wife had expressed a desire to be remembered to their guests.

“Her Royal Highness spent the evening with the ministers of finance and war, and her poor head, I doubt not, is racking from the effects of the consultation. These are weighty matters for a girl to have on her hands,” solemnly stated the Count, pausing for an instant at the door of the apartment.

After he had closed it the Americans looked long and thoughtfully at each other, each feeling a respect for the grim old gentleman that they had never felt for man before.

“So they are in a devil of a shape,” mused Anguish. “I tell you, Gren, I never knew anything that made me feel so badly as does the trouble that hangs over that girl and her people. A week ago I wouldn’t have cared a rap for Graustark, but tonight I feel like weeping for her.”

“There seems to be no help for her, either,” said Lorry, reflectively.

“Graustark, you mean?”

“No—I mean yes, of course,—who else?” demanded the other, who certainly had not meant Graustark.

“I believe, confound your selfish soul, you’d like to see the nation, the crown and everything else taken away from this helpless, harrassed child. Then you’d have a chance,” exclaimed Anguish, pacing the floor, half angrily, half encouragingly.

“Don’t say that, Harry, don’t say that. Don’t accuse me of it, for I’ll confess I had in my heart that meanest of longings—the selfish, base, heartless hope that you have guessed. It hurts me to be accused of it though, so don’t do it again, old man. I’ll put away the miserable hope, if I can, and I’ll pray God that she may find a way out of the difficulty.”

They went to sleep that night, Anguish at once, Lorry not for hours, harboring a determination to learn more about the condition of affairs touching the people of Graustark and the heart of their Princess.