“The father of the man you murdered. Ah, this is rapture!”
“I have only to say to your Highness, I did not kill your son. I swear
it, so help me God!”
“Your Highness,” cried Bolaroz, stepping to the throne, “destroy
that decree. This brave soldier has saved Graustark. In an hour your
ministers and mine will have drawn up a ten Tears' extension of time, in
proper form, to which my signature shall be gladly attached. I have not
forgotten my promise.”
Yetive straightened suddenly, seized the pen and fiercely began to sign
the decree, in spite of all and before those about her fairly realized
her intention. Lorry understood, and was the first to snatch the
document from her hands. A half-written Yetive, a blot and a long,
spluttering scratch of the pen told how near she had come to signing
away the lands of Graustark, forgetful of the fact that it could be of
no benefit to the prisoner she loved.
“Yetive!” gasped her uncle, in horror.
“She would have signed,” cried Gaspon, in wonder and alarm.
“Yes, I would have signed!” she exclaimed, starting to her feet, strong
and defiant. “I could not have saved his life, perhaps, but I might have
saved him from the cruel injustice that that man's vengeance would have
invented. He is innocent, and I would give my kingdom to stay the wrong
that will be done.”
“What! You defend the dog!” cried Bolaroz. “Seize him, men! I will see
that justice is done. It is no girl he has to deal with now.”
“Stop!” cried the Princess, the command checking the men. Quinnox leaped
in front of his charge. “He is my prisoner, and he shall have justice.
Keep back your soldiery, Prince Bolaroz. It is a girl you have to deal
with. I will say to you all, my people and yours, that I believe him to
be innocent and that I sincerely regret his capture, fortunate as it may
be for us. He shall have a fair and a just trial, and I shall do all in
my power, Prince Bolaroz, to secure his acquittal.”
“Why do you take this stand, Yetive? Why have you tried to shield him?”
cried the heartbroken Halfont.
She drew herself to her full height, and, sweeping the threatening crowd
with a challenge in her eyes, cried, the tones ringing strong and clear
above the growing tumult:
“Because I love him!”
As if by magic the room became suddenly still.
“Behold an honest man. I would have saved him at the cost of my honor.
Scorn me if you will, but listen to this. The man who stands here
accused came voluntarily to this castle, surrendering himself to Captain
Quinnox, that he might, though innocent, stand between us and disaster.
He was safe from our pursuit, yet returned, perhaps to his death. For
me, for you and for Graustark he has done this. Is there a man among you
who would have done as much for his own country? Yet he does this for a
country to which he is stranger. I must commit him to prison once more.
But,” she cried in sudden fierceness, “I promise him now, before
the trial, a royal pardon. Do I make my meaning clear to you, Prince
Bolaroz?”
The white lips of the old Prince could frame no reply to this daring
speech.
“Be careful whet you say, your Highness,” cried the prisoner, hastily.
“I must refuse to accept a pardon at the cost of your honor. It is
because I love you better than my life that I stand here. I cannot allow
you and your people to suffer when it is in my power to prevent it. All
that I can ask is fairness and justice. I am not guilty, and God will
protect me. Prince Bolaroz, I call upon you to keep your promise. I
am not the slayer of your son, but I am the man you would send to the
block, guilty or innocent.”
As he spoke, the Princess dropped back in the chair, her rash courage
gone. A stir near the doorway followed his concluding sentence, and the
other American stepped forward, his face showing his excitement.
“Your Highness,” he said, “I should have spoken sooner. My lips were
parted and ready to cry out when Prince Gabriel interposed and prevented
the signing of the decree. Grenfall Lorry did not kill the young Prince.
I can produce the guilty man!”