"No, monsieur; it is an original idea. I have ideas of my own sometimes.

I have one now. If you are leaving the palace, I will drive you to the

Western Gate." She was pretty, and Ellerey was only human. Strictly

speaking, his duty was to remain, lest the Queen should send for him;

but he helped the Countess into her carriage and seated himself beside

her. She refused to be serious as they drove through the city, and

when Ellerey entered his lodging he was left to wonder at what point

the incidents of the evening touched his mission. Why should the

Countess become suddenly interested in the movements of Lord Cloverton?

and since she was closely attached to the Queen, why should she warn

him against De Froilette, who was also deep in her Majesty's confidence?

The problem was beyond his power to solve.

Frina Mavrodin was a far more important person in Sturatzberg than

Ellerey imagined. It was not only at Court that she was popular; she

was besides the Lady Bountiful to the poor. She was immensely wealthy,

and her beautiful home by the river, in the southwest of the city, had

been called the beggars' paradise, for those who asked charity were

seldom sent away empty. The general criticism of her was that she was

a pretty woman, very adorable, a little frivolous perhaps, and possessed

of much more heart than head. She seemed to take delight in such

criticism, and to be at some pains to fully merit it. But there was

another side to her character which few persons ever got even a glimpse

of. Her profound knowledge of current politics would have startled

Lord Cloverton, and her capacity for intrigue and scheming would have

astonished even Monsieur De Froilette into admiration. There were few

clubs and societies in Sturatzberg, where discontent was fostered and

secret plans discussed, which were not known to Frina Mavrodin. She

was conversant with their secret signs, their aims, and their means,

and knew by sight most of their influential members. A single word

from her would have sent many a man to prison who walked the streets

freely. Perhaps, in all Sturatzberg, there was only one person who

gave her credit for such knowledge, and who was content to be guided

in some measure by her advice.

This person, at present, occupied a suite of rooms in Frina Mavrodin's

house, and this evening she reclined at full length among the cushions

of a low couch, and watched a door at one end of the room expectantly.

Her hand was stretched out to a bowl of flowers on a table by her side,

and she plucked a petal at intervals which she crushed and let fall.

Something of the girl's character seemed to be in the action. She was

not weary, not worn out with the day's work or pleasure, whichever it

might have been, but was waiting anxiously, irritably even, for news,

or for someone's coming. Her hair had loosened by contact with the

cushions, and fell about her shoulders in luxuriant copper-colored

tresses. Presently the door opened, and an elderly woman entered--an

English woman, plain in feature and resolute in manner.

"You have been spoiling your flowers," she said, seeing the scattered

petals on the carpet.

"Never mind them. Has Dumitru come, Hannah?"

"Just come."

"Then bring him in, bring him in. Why do you wait?" exclaimed the girl,

half-rising from her reclining position. "I cannot afford to have

fools about me in such times as these."

"You haven't," the woman answered bluntly, evidently quite used to the

petulant moods of her mistress. "I was one when I came out of Devon

to a heathen place like this; but that time is past." And she went to

the door and beckoned to a man to come in. As he entered she went out,

closing the door behind her. When she had gone the man dropped swiftly

on one knee by the couch.

"Well, Dumitru?"

"He returned to-day," said the man, rising and standing erect. "He

went straight to the lodging of this English Captain."

"And then?"

"To Court, Princess."

"And his mission, Dumitru--was it in my interests, think you?"

The man made a fierce clicking sound with his tongue.

"Ah, no, no, no; and again a hundred times, no. He is for the Queen

a little, and for himself very much. Have you still a doubt, even now?

A sudden death should be his reward."

"Patience, Dumitru."

"The English Captain had another visitor to-day--the British Minister."

"This English Captain is in great requisition, it would seem," she

said.

"Aye, he is a man, I grant you that--strong, resolute, and rides as

though horse and rider were one piece."

"And honest, Dumitru. I have looked into his face and thought him so."

"Can one judge so easily?" asked the man. "Besides, honest or not, he

is for our enemies."

"Our enemies must be swept aside," she said imperiously, as though not

only the will, but the power to do so were hers.

"Thus, Princess," and the man's dark eyes gleamed as he just showed

the keen, thin blade of a dagger which he carried in his cloak.

"Not without my command, Dumitru," she said hastily. The man bowed

low, disappointed perhaps that the same spirit was not in her as was

in him.

"We may use this English Captain for our ends," she went on. "I have

a way and you shall help me, Dumitru, when the time comes. That Lord

Cloverton has visited him shows that some new pressure is to be brought

to bear upon him. We shall see how he stands in this, whether firm or

not, and may learn how to act ourselves."

"He is ready to act when the token is given him," said Dumitru. "He

has a few desperate men who are pledged to his service."

"You are sure of this?"

"Quite sure."

"Who will follow for love of him?" she asked.

"They are of the kind who follow more readily for money," answered the

man.

The girl remained thoughtful for a few moments. Something in the man's

information had set her thoughts running in a new channel, and while

she mused Frina Mavrodin entered the room hurriedly.

Dumitru bowed low before her.

"You are early," said the Princess.

Frina turned to Dumitru.

"Captain Ellerey has returned early to his lodging, too; it would be

well to watch. I do not think it will happen to-night, but should any

messenger seek him we must know at once."

"Go, Dumitru," said the Princess, and when he had gone she turned to

her companion: "What has brought you home so early?"

"You, Maritza. I wondered whether you had remained safely here, or

whether you had again jeopardized your cause by going so openly into

the streets. It is known that you are in Sturatzberg."

"By whom?"

"That lynx-eyed servant of De Froilette's saw you, as you know. You

thought he would believe himself mistaken, but I knew better. His

master returned to-day, and to-night I found Monsieur De Froilette and

Lord Cloverton in confidential conversation. When two men who hate

each other as they do, agree, it is time to prepare for the storm. You

must remain an absolute prisoner here for a while."

"I am tired of inactivity."

"You will not have to wait long," Frina answered. "Within an hour, I

warrant you, there will be spies out in every quarter of the city to

try and find your hiding-place. You are safe so long as you remain

here. What an advantage it is to have such a reputation for

empty-headedness as I have. No doubt De Froilette played a trump card

in telling Lord Cloverton of your presence in Sturatzberg. The task

of finding you will occupy the Minister's attention for a little while,

and if De Froilette is ready, he will seize the opportunity to strike

his blow. That is why I offered to drive Captain Ellerey to his lodging.

If the token is to be given to-night he will not be there to receive

it."

"It may be sent to him," said the Princess.

"That is why Dumitru watches by the Western Gate."

"The moment the token is given I must know," said Maritza. "I have a

plan. I have had plenty of lonely hours in which to mature plans. I

am longing to put them into action. We are too cautious, Frina."

"Your want of caution in going openly into the city has nearly ruined

us, Maritza."

"I have many friends in the city."

"True, and many enemies; and it is the enemies who happen to be in

power. Do not be impatient."

"Over-caution may be as fatal as impatience," Maritza answered. "We

should advance a step each day, each night; do we advance?"

"So fast that we shall have to run quickly to keep abreast of affairs

shortly. A few weeks ago had you any real hope of being in Sturatzberg?

Yet you are here. Had you even a suspicion that Jules De Froilette had

been working in his own interests for these two years past, and not

in yours?"

"True, Frina, we have advanced. Heaven help De Froilette when I touch

power. Who knows what injury he may not have done to my cause in these

two years? And he has succeeded in drawing this English Captain into

his schemes."

"Captain Ellerey does not like De Froilette," said Frina. "Tell me

your plan, Maritza."

The Princess drew a flower carefully from the bowl and held it to her

face, as though she were absorbed for a moment in its beauty and

fragrance.

"Captain Ellerey left the Court with you, to-night," she said. "That

was wisely thought of. Did he come willingly?"

Frina laughed, such a joy in the laugh that the Princess looked at her

in astonishment.

"Yes, he came willingly, most willingly, I think."

"You hope to win him to my cause?"

"He is a man, I am a woman; I shall try."

"And then?"

"Then, Maritza--ah, we run on too fast. Tell me your plan."

"It is strange," said the Princess slowly; "but in England, as I told

you, I once met Captain Ellerey. I told him who I was, and promised

him work for his sword should he ever come to Wallaria."

"You told him that! Why?"

"I am a woman, and he is a man," the Princess answered.

For a moment the two women looked into each other's eyes. Then Frina,

looked down and straightened a fold of her dress, while Maritza bent

to inhale the perfume of the flowers in the vase. The Princess did not

tell her plan, and Frina Mavrodin forgot to question her.

CHAPTER VII.

THE TIME ARRIVES

Within a short time of Lord Cloverton's return to the Embassy, spies

and secret-service agents were abroad in the city endeavoring to

discover the whereabouts of Princess Maritza. The Ambassador at once

telegraphed to the Foreign Office in London, and received the answer

that the report of her return to Wallaria was absurd, that she was

certainly on her way to Australia. This confident answer, however, did

not satisfy Lord Cloverton, in spite of the fact that no news of the

Princess was forth coming. That she could have returned to Sturatzberg

without his knowledge, more, without the knowledge of any of those who

were so eager to keep her out of the country, seemed impossible; but

then in diplomacy it was often the impossible things which happened.

He was too astute a man to underrate the undoubted ability of De

Froilette. There were few men who probed more accurately the likely

trend of future events, or who were quicker to recognize opportunities

and seize them than the Frenchman, and Lord Cloverton argued that he

was far too clever a man to tell such an unlikely story merely to serve

his own ends. He would know that the very improbability of the tale

would have the effect of drawing attention to himself and his actions.

No, whether the report were true or not, De Froilette believed it, and

evidently saw danger to himself in the presence of Princess Maritza.

At the same time he might perceive a favorable opportunity in the state

of affairs to exploit his own plans, and Lord Cloverton took the

precaution to have the Frenchman under careful observation.

The unexpected information had also caused the Ambassador to reconsider

Captain Ellerey's position in Sturatzberg. It was quite possible that

he knew more about the Princess than any one else. He was the kind of

man who would have nerve and determination enough to attempt a desperate

venture, and having little to lose and all to win, might go far toward

success. He and De Froilette apparently held little communication with

each other; the characteristics of the two men were antagonistic; and

the Englishman might be quite as capable of playing a deep game as the

Frenchman was.

It was a sleepless night for the Ambassador. This was just such a

complication as might embroil the nations of Europe in strife, an

excuse which might serve to snap diplomatic relations and spread the

lurid clouds of war from the Ural range to the shores of the Atlantic.

One thing seemed certain, De Froilette had not repeated his information

broadcast. No intimation reached Lord Cloverton that the report had

even been whispered in any of the other Embassies, and there was some

consolation in this.

No news came during the following day. Wherever the Princess was, her

secret was well kept, probably because only a few persons had been

admitted into it, and it seemed evident that no special movement had

taken place in her favor, or had even been arranged for. Some bold

_coup d'etat_ might be in contemplation, and although the many and

diverse interests in the country were probably sufficient to render

any attempt abortive in itself, yet such an attempt might be the one

thing needed to fan the smouldering ashes into flame, starting a

conflagration which would burn throughout Europe. Such fires never die

out--they are always smouldering.

Any person who had watched Lord Cloverton closely when he went to the

palace that night, would have been struck by his particular alertness.

He was observant of the composition of the different groups in the

rooms, of those who were chiefly about her Majesty, and of those who

danced together. The slightest confidential whisper near him attracted

his attention, and more than once he caused a blush to mount to a

pretty woman's cheeks by suddenly surprising a murmured love passage

meant for no other ears but her own. To those to whom he spoke he

succeeded in giving the impression that he had only a few moments to

spare them, that he was purposely keeping himself free, but he managed

to suggest that it was not business, but some pleasure he anticipated.

He glanced round all the rooms in search of Captain Ellerey, who either

had not yet arrived, or had already retired into some quiet corner,

probably with the Countess Mavrodin. The last conjecture was wrong,

however, for standing in a position which commanded the entrance to

the suite of state rooms, the Ambassador presently saw Frina Mavrodin

on the arm of an _attache_ of the Austrian Embassy, an offshoot of a

princely house who, rumor said, had already been twice refused by the

fair lady, and was only awaiting an opportunity to adventure his case

for a third time. He was evidently persuading her to dance with him,

and she was laughingly protesting, perhaps promising to do so later

in the evening. She was, however, not averse to his company, for she

palpably kept him by her side, and they remained talking and laughing

together, the man extremely happy, the woman watchful and rather

preoccupied, the Ambassador thought.

For half an hour or more she remained there, evidently using the

Austrian's presence to keep herself free from other companions. Several

spoke to her, but since the _attache_ did not move away, the new

arrivals were obliged to leave her after exchanging a few words. At

last Lord Cloverton noticed that the expression of her face suddenly

changed. She looked at him, or rather beyond him, and turning to

discover the cause, he saw Desmond Ellerey crossing the room toward

her. He also became aware that Baron Petrescu was standing close to

him and that he was watching Ellerey, too.

Frina Mavrodin spoke quickly to her cavalier, telling him perhaps where

he would find her for the promised dance, but at any rate she dismissed

him. For a few moments Ellerey stood beside her, her smiling face

raised to his, and then they went slowly toward the ball-room.

"The little comedy interests you, my lord."

"Well, Baron, my white hair gives me credit for greater age than does

the feeling of youth which is still in me. I am young enough, even

now, to recognize love, and to take an interest in it--in others, of

course."

Baron Petrescu shrugged his shoulders rather contemptuously.

"The moth ever flits to the candle, and usually gets burnt," he said.

"Would not the lodestone be the more apposite simile?" asked Lord

Cloverton. "In that case the attraction brings no hurt, Baron."

"Time will show which is the best simile," was the answer. "He interests

me, this Captain Ellerey."

"He interests the lady too, it seems," replied the Ambassador. "Indeed,

Captain Ellerey interests many people."

"I trust his courage is equal to his ambition," said the Baron with

a smile. "There are others striving for the same prize, my lord, who

do not easily accept defeat, and are content to pin their honor to the

sword's point."

"Jealous," said Lord Cloverton to himself as the Baron turned away,

still with a smile upon his face, but with a movement of his shoulders

which suggested an angry bird ruffling its feathers. "He means mischief.

Ellerey may find his hands fuller than he expects, if the Baron's

weapon is as ready as his tongue. Sentiment compels me to wish my

countryman victory, but politically--ah! a cunning thrust which would

lay him aside for a few weeks would be very convenient to me, and

perhaps not the worst thing which could happen for him." And Lord

Cloverton went toward the ball-room.

The Countess and her cavalier had disappeared.

"Are you still watching the Ambassador?" Ellerey had asked, as she

placed her hand upon his arm.

"No."

"Then let us get out of the crowd. Few people seem to know of the

alcove off the ball-room."

"And why such a desire for solitude, Captain Ellerey?" she said, seating

herself in a corner and making room for him beside her.

"Not solitude, Countess, but restful companionship. I am not desirous

of living perpetually under the eye of Lord Cloverton, and, after what

he said, I imagine he watches me pretty closely."

"And is as closely watched," she replied.

"Have you found out anything which affects me?" Ellerey asked after

a pause.

She hesitated.

"Not directly."

"Indirectly, then?"

"Perhaps, a little. It is a small matter, but it interested me. It has

nothing to do with Sturatzberg, but with England."

Ellerey was silent. Could Lord Cloverton have repeated his story?

"May I know the nature of the--crime is it?--which is imputed to me?"

"It is no crime, Captain Ellerey--rather a romance. I should have

repudiated the idea of a crime in connection with you."

"Countess, that is the kindest thing you have ever said to me."

She looked into his face, and the color came into her own.

"Are we not friends?" she said, "and is it not the elemental part of

friendship to believe nothing ill? I would hardly believe a confession

of crime, though your own lips spoke it. No, this information was about

a woman."

"Unknown women are a dangerous subject between us, Countess," said

Ellerey, with a smile. "I am barely forgiven yet for the mysterious

lady of the Altstrasse."

"This is not an unknown woman, but a very famous one--none other than

Princess Maritza of Wallaria. You have heard of her?"

"I have not only heard of her, but seen her and spoken to her."

"And admired her?" she asked.

"Yes, her beauty and her indomitable courage."

"That is what I heard, that you admired her."

"It is a very strange thing for you to hear. I only saw her once, for

ten minutes, perhaps. She was a schoolgirl, and playing truant. We met

upon the downs one breezy morning, a hat blown away by the wind served

for introduction, and I have never seen her since."

"It was not for her sake, then, that you came to Wallaria?"

"Ah! is that what Lord Cloverton thinks!" exclaimed Ellerey. "Now I

understand his attitude more clearly."

"You do not answer my question," she said.

"Her story of the state of affairs in Wallaria certainly gave me the

idea of seeking fortune in this country."

"And love?" she said.

Ellerey looked at her quickly and wondered. He was not one of those

who believe that they have the power of charming any woman, and his

companion's sudden question and attitude startled him. More than one

answer sprang to his lips ready to trip lightly and pleasantly to her

ears, but they were not spoken. Instead he laughed gayly and said:

"A Princess and a poor Captain of Horse, Countess? Such a flight of

fancy after ten minutes' conversation! Oh, you jest and laugh at me."

There was a further question in her glance and attitude, but it was

not asked, for a man appeared at the entrance of the alcove.

"I have been seeking you, Captain Ellerey," he said. "Her Majesty

commands your attendance. Will you come with me?"

Ellerey rose at once.

"You will pardon me, Countess. I must make another opportunity of

quarrelling with you for laughing at me. Shall I take you back to the

ball-room?"

"No, thank you. I am tired, and will stay here." And with a low bow

Ellerey left her.

The fact that he had been sent for and the probable meaning of that

interview, did not take first place in Frina Mavrodin's thoughts for

a time. She was considering Ellerey's answer to her question, trying

to understand it when viewed in the light of the Princess's declaration.

Maritza could only have intended her to understand one thing, and

to-night she had endeavored to surprise the truth from Captain Ellerey.

Had she succeeded in learning anything? Surely in such a casual meeting

no lasting impression could have been formed, and yet love works in

sudden and inexplicable fashion sometimes. The Princess seemed to have

treasured the memory of that meeting; Ellerey admitted that it was the

cause of his coming to Sturatzberg. Frina Mavrodin remembered, as

though they had been noted down in one continuous story, everything

Captain Ellerey had ever said to her, and the manner in which he had

said it. She had allowed herself to indulge in a dream, which had had

naught but pleasure in it until the Princess had looked into her eyes

in so strange a fashion; and now that she had sought the truth from

Ellerey himself, she was still left in doubt, in a half-waking

uncertainty, which had a sense of pain in it.

It was some time before the thought that Ellerey was with the Queen

came uppermost in her mind, urging her to be on the alert. She was in

the act of rising when a shadow fell upon her, and Lord Cloverton stood

in the entrance.

"Alone, Countess!" he exclaimed. "What great event has happened in

Sturatzberg?"

"None that I am aware of, my lord."

"And yet you are alone. It is so rare a circumstance that you must

pardon my astonishment."

"Even such a frivolous person as I am welcomes solitude sometimes,"

she answered.

"I would not allow my dearest friend to so malign you, Countess," said

the Ambassador, seating himself beside her. "I expected to find Captain

Ellerey with you."

"You wish to speak with him?"

"Yes, but it can wait," answered Lord Cloverton carelessly. "Success

is the result of skilfully seizing opportunities, and in finding you

alone an opportunity comes to me. Will you spare me a moment?"

She bowed a smiling acquiescence as though the question were

unnecessary.

"Like me, Countess, I am sure you take little interest in uninteresting

people, therefore you must have found this Captain Ellerey interesting.

So have I--so interesting, indeed, that I have wondered why he came

to Wallaria."

"He has not given me so much of his confidence as you appear to imagine,

my lord."

"He has not told you! Ah, then I will, in confidence, Countess, in

confidence."

"I understand, and I shall respect it," she answered, eager to learn

what explanation the Ambassador would give.

"He had enemies in England who made certain charges against him which

were absolutely without foundation; but so skilfully had they been

manipulated that Captain Ellerey was unable to prove them false. His

nature is an impatient one, and in anger he turned his back upon England

and came to Sturatzberg. In Wallaria there were possibilities. I can

understand his action, Countess; it was a natural one in a man of his

independent character, but it was foolish. It gave credence to the

tales which had been circulated. Now, Countess, influential friends

have taken up his case, and he ought to go back to England."

"But why tell this to me, my lord?"

"A woman's persuasion, Countess, is all-powerful."

She looked at him quickly.

"But you have told me this in confidence. How can I approach the subject

and yet keep confidence?"

"You flatter me most delicately by asking my advice on such a matter.

Is it not true that a woman can frame her questions so that a man is

compelled to answer?"

"Some men, perhaps."

"Captain Ellerey, I think," said the Ambassador.

"Under certain conditions."

"Exactly," he answered.

"When the questions are asked by one particular woman," she said.

"You have caught my meaning exactly, Countess."

"But as it happens, Lord Cloverton, I am not the one particular woman."

The Ambassador turned a smiling countenance toward her.

"My dear lady, you do yourself a gross injustice."

The look he expected to find in her face he did not see there. He had

believed himself possessed of one secret. He suddenly perceived that

he had possibly discovered another--one that might be even more

certainly used to his own advantage, and he made haste to turn it to

account.

"If I am mistaken," he said slowly, "Captain Ellerey sinks in my

estimation as a stone in water. If I am wrong your displeasure should

urge his return to England, for he is no fit cavalier for Countess

Mavrodin. He would be a mere adventurer to whom every woman is a

pleasant plaything--one whose honor is for barter to the highest bidder.

Such men may well be advised to return to their native land."

"As I am not the one particular woman so am I not a plaything, my lord.

Has your philosophy no position which a woman may occupy between the

two?"

"In this case I think not."

"Such a small position as friendship, for instance," she said, rising.

"Captain Ellerey and I are fast friends."

"I hardly know whether I can congratulate you," said Lord Cloverton,

rising, too, and showing no sign of annoyance or recognition of defeat.

"You will pardon me, but I fear I may have been missed," and then as

they passed into the ball-room he went on, "I will respect your

confidence, but may I suggest that your knowledge of Captain Ellerey's

affairs may be useful to him? Why not advise him yourself? At present

he is with the Queen; when I see him again I will tell him that you

wish to speak to him."

"I have already given him my advice, Countess. I thought to do him a

service by sending him a more powerful advocate." And the Ambassador

left her and went quickly toward the vestibule. As she turned, Monsieur

De Froilette bowed low to her; he too was hastening toward the

vestibule.

When Desmond Ellerey had followed the messenger across the ball-room,

his guide suddenly paused and said in a low tone:

"Her Majesty is in her private apartment, and I am instructed to take

you there. Will you come with me this way?"

He turned from the ballroom and led Ellerey along a corridor and through

a door, which he locked after him. They passed up one corridor and

down another for a little distance, and then ushering him into an

ante-room, his guide left him there while he went to inform the Queen

of his arrival. In a few moments he returned, and, holding open a door,

bid him enter.

The Queen was alone, seated by a table at which she had been writing.

Ellerey approached her and bent over her hand.

"The time has come, Captain Ellerey," she said. "You are ready?"

"I am only waiting your Majesty's commands."

"You have been sent once or twice, Captain Ellerey, to dislodge a

certain brigand called Vasilici from his fastnesses in the mountains,

and have experienced disappointment perhaps in not finding him."

"That is so, your Majesty."

"It was never intended that you should find him," she answered. "For

months past loyal subjects have been gathering in the mountains with

Vasilici, waiting for our word to revolt against the thraldom this

country is under to foreign nations. In the future it is for us to

dictate, not to obey. His Majesty, watched as he is, cannot act freely,

so the duty devolves on me. It is for you to proclaim that we in

Sturatzberg are ready, by carrying a token to Vasilici, which I will

give you, and which you must guard with your life, Captain Ellerey.

The mission with which you are intrusted is a hazardous one. Faction

is rife in the country, and spies lurk in every corner of it. Even now

there may be some setting out upon the road to bar your way to Vasilici.

But for the trusted bearer of this token await high honor and great

reward."

"Even for a foreigner?" asked Ellerey.

"You are no more one, Captain Ellerey. This is the land of your

adoption, and by this service are you not proving yourself a worthy

son?"

"Your Majesty commands. I am content to trust to your Majesty for my

reward; but one thing troubles me."

"What is that?"

"The revolution--for such it must be--will heat men's blood against

the foreigner. May I ask consideration for Lord Cloverton and his staff

at the British Embassy?"

"You have our word that no harm shall come to them. We are not fighting

Embassies, but the riff-raff which has come into our land--the

adventurers who bear themselves as though they were our masters. We

have been under an iron flail from the palace to the hovel. It is

against this subjection that we rebel. You are prepared to fight and

win with us."

"I am waiting for the token, your Majesty."

"I love a man of few words," she said; "and as surely as success will

come, I pledge my word that the ribbon of the Golden Lion of Sturatzberg

shall be yours, Captain Ellerey, and with it revenue sufficient to

bear it fittingly. This is the token," she went on, baring her arm,

on which, just above the elbow, was a bracelet of iron, a chain joining

together four medallions. "It is an ancient treasure of Wallaria, worn,

it is said, by savage kings in this country before ever the Romans had

trampled it with their all-conquering legions. I will seal it in this

box, which you must guard with your life and bear to Vasilici. Seeing

it, he will welcome you as he would ourself. With him return

triumphantly to Sturatzberg, and if a rabble of rebellious soldiery,

led away by traitors who are among us, stand in your way, I can trust

Captain Ellerey's sword to cut a path through it. Will you unclasp the

bracelet for me? the fastening is difficult."

As she held out her arm the door opened, and the servant who had fetched

Ellerey entered.

"Monsieur De Froilette, your Majesty, has just informed me that his

Majesty is on his way here."

For one moment the Queen stood undecided.

"Do not unfasten it, Captain Ellerey," she said, laying a detaining

hand upon his. "To-morrow, some time before midnight, it shall be sent

to you. Not to your lodging, that might be dangerous. Wait for it at

the Toison d'Or. It is an inn of no repute in the Bergenstrasse, which

runs toward the Southern Gate. This same messenger who came to you

to-night shall bring it, sealed as I have said. Then make all speed

to Vasilici, who lies in the neighborhood of the Drekner Pass. Now go.

Quickly. He will show you the way."

It was by a different way they returned.

"The Toison d'Or about midnight," said his guide as he stood to open

a door, "and monsieur would do well to leave his lodging by the Western

Gate as soon as he has prepared for the journey. This passage will

take monsieur to the vestibule."

As he went toward the staircase, determined to leave the palace at

once, Ellerey saw Baron Petrescu leaning against the marble balustrade

talking to one of his companions. There were certain men at Court who

appeared to follow the Baron like his shadow. He was watching all those

who left the palace as carefully as on a former occasion he had

scrutinized all those who entered it, and again Ellerey's appearance

seemed to release him from his labors. With a whispered word to his

companion he moved hastily among the people who were crossing to the

stairs, and contriving to jostle Ellerey, came to a standstill directly

in front of him.

"I am waiting, monsieur," he said.

"For what?"

"Your apology."

"You jest with me. I have none to make."

"Monsieur is slow to appreciate," said the Baron, with a curl of his

lip. "He forgets that he has stared most insufferably at me on many

occasions, and that now he attempts to bar my progress."

"I appreciate that you wish to quarrel with me," Ellerey answered

bluntly, "but I am in no mood for quarrelling. Will monsieur oblige

by standing out of my way, or must I be at the trouble of throwing him

down the stairs?"

The answer came quickly and was to the point. With a sudden sweep of his

arm Baron Petrescu struck Ellerey sharply across the face with his

glove.

Perhaps there was something in Ellerey's expression which made the

Baron's companion step hastily to his side. Experience may have taught

him that Englishmen have a strange habit of punishing such insults on

the spot with a total disregard of all formalities. Perhaps it was his

action which prevented Ellerey carrying out his intention. He drew

himself up to his full height, the air whistling through his clenched

teeth as he caught his breath, and then he bowed slightly to the Baron,

who turned away, leaving his companion to settle the matter.

"Monsieur will give me the name of a friend, so that we may arrange

for this affair to-morrow."

"Why not to-night? I never sleep upon my quarrels."

"Impossible, monsieur."

"Is not the choice with me?"

"Certainly, but--"

"Then I say to-night," Ellerey answered. "There was a moon when I

entered the palace."

The man shrugged his shoulders, disgusted at the utter barbarity of

these Englishmen.

"The name of your friend, then, monsieur?"

Ellerey was in a difficulty. He could think of no one to whom he was

desirous of intrusting an affair of this kind. Before he could reply,

however, he felt a touch upon his arm.

"Can I be of service?" The speaker was an Englishman and a stranger

to him.

"You will be doing me a great favor, monsieur, and I thank you."

The stranger at once went aside with the Baron's friend, In a few

minutes he returned.

"Come, Captain Ellerey. It is in half an hour's time." And with an

assenting inclination of his head Ellerey went slowly down the stairs

with his companion.

As he did so a woman came from a corner, and leaning over the

balustrade, watched the descending figures. Her face was pale, and her

lips trembled.

"I have sought you for my promised dance," said a voice behind her.

"What is interesting the Countess so much?"

"I was thinking that the moon will be setting shortly," she answered

absent-mindedly. "In an hour it will be dark or very nearly."

"Well, Countess, what can that matter?" said the Austrian _attache_.

She looked at him vaguely for a moment, thinking of the man who had

just descended the stairs. Then she said with manifest effort and a

faint smile as she laid her hand upon the _attache's_ arm:

"No, indeed; what can it matter--to me?"

CHAPTER VIII.

THE IRON BRACELET

When Lord Cloverton left Frina Mavrodin he hurried to the vestibule and

sent a message to the King, asking for an immediate and private

audience, and De Froilette saw the Ambassador go to the King's private

apartment soon afterward. De Froilette knew that this sudden audience

could only relate to one of two matters--either Lord Cloverton had made

some discovery respecting the Princess Maritza, or else he was aware

that Ellerey was with the Queen and was about to make some move which

would defeat any conspiracy which might be in progress. That the

Ambassador had any idea of the real state of affairs, De Froilette did

not believe. He did not go at once to warn the Queen. It was only as the

King and the Minister were leaving the private apartments that he

realized the danger.

Lord Cloverton was troubled. The various pieces of the puzzle which

he had fitted into places to his satisfaction suddenly seemed inadequate

to fill the places he had assigned to them. To-night he had discovered

a depth in Frina Mavrodin the existence of which he had never suspected.

She had fenced him with his own weapons in a manner he was little

accustomed to, and he had signally failed to make use of her in the

way he desired. True, she had told him that Ellerey was with the Queen,

but she had mentioned it as a circumstance of small importance. Was

it? Was the casual information meant to mislead him? This frivolous

woman was beginning to take a new position in the Ambassador's

calculations, and he began, almost unconsciously, to look for some

large space in the intricate puzzle which she might possibly fill. He

had imagined that love linked her to Desmond Ellerey, and he was

apparently mistaken; it was only friendship, and such friendship might

mean anything.

He spoke to Captain Ward, telling him to be particularly observant of

Ellerey, and then went to the King. It was unusual with him, but for

once he had not determined what course of action to take even when he

entered the King's room.

"What important twist have affairs taken, my lord?" asked the King.

"It is to prevent any twist that I ventured to ask for this audience,

your Majesty. I am forced to refer again to a subject which, on a

former occasion, gave you some displeasure. You must pardon my

importunity, since I believe the danger is imminent."

"I am all attention," the King answered, conscious of the slight

embarrassment there was in Lord Cloverton's manner.

"As you are aware," the Ambassador went on slowly, "I have always

considered many of the plots which from time to time become apparent

in Sturatzberg of small importance. I have, on the other hand,

consistently warned your Majesty of the danger which might at any time

manifest itself in a sudden development of the tactics of the brigands

in the mountains. Their chief, Vasilici, may be a chief only in name,

and it is certain that during the past few months many have joined him

who are not brigands in any sense of the word, and who, I conceive,

are merely using this outlaw as a convenient cloak to their wider and

more sinister intentions."

"Certainly you have always been an alarmist in this matter," said the

King, with a smile. "Whatever their intentions may be, the fact remains

that they have always fled at the approach of a handful of troops."

"Which is rather unnatural, it seems to me," Lord Cloverton answered

quickly. "Whatever else he may lack, your brigand is not deficient in

courage, and it must be remembered that the troops sent against these

men have never succeeded in finding a trace of their spoils."

"Do you suggest that they have been warned of the expeditions sent

against them?"

"I think it probable."

"By whom, my lord?"

"We might laugh at the danger, your Majesty, could I answer that

question," replied the Ambassador. "It must be remembered that there

are many in Sturatzberg who, while personally loyal to you, are not

satisfied with your foreign policy; who believe that Wallaria is too

much under the direction of the greater European Powers, and would

help you to emancipation in spite of yourself."

"A judgment which is the outcome of ignorance, Lord Cloverton."

"I think so, but it is not reasonable to suppose that they do," returned

the Ambassador. "Such a feeling is prevalent in all grades of society

in Sturatzberg, from her Majesty Queen Elena, down to the beggars in

the Altstrasse."

"The Queen, my lord!" exclaimed the King sharply.

"I do not speak hastily, your Majesty, Queen Elena has all those

attributes which go to make a great ruler. She has courage, diplomacy,

tact, and deep in her heart lies a living, beating interest in her

country's welfare."

"Such praise seems merely the mask for an accusation, my lord. I must

request you to be more explicit."

"To be so, your Majesty, was my reason for asking for this interview.

I humbly protest, however, that I make no accusation in the ordinary

sense of the word. Her Majesty's conception of her country's welfare

is, I venture to think, an erroneous one, although I imagine her

desire is only to help forward a policy which she believes is near

to your heart."

"Enough, Lord Cloverton, let us get to the root of the matter quickly.

Our absence will be remarked and occasion comment."

The King spoke irritably, and the Ambassador felt the delicacy and

difficulty of the position. He was not quite sure of his ground. He

was rather in the position of one who draws a bow at a venture, and

yet he had a shrewd suspicion in which direction the mark lay. Of one

thing he was certain--the danger; and he felt justified in taking any

risk for the purpose of preventing trouble.

"To-night the Queen has given a special audience to a countryman of

mine, a Captain Desmond Ellerey in your Majesty's service," said the

Ambassador, speaking quietly and concisely. "This Captain Ellerey is

a man of courage and resource, in a way an adventurer, prepared for

any hazardous enterprise if he is once convinced that it is in the

service of his adopted country. I believe the Queen intends to send

him upon some secret mission which, although she may be ignorant of

the fact, will militate against your Majesty, and against your peaceful

policy."

"An accusation of treason!" exclaimed the King. "You go too far, my

lord."

"I make no such accusation; I only fear an act which may lead to treason

in others, and seek to prevent it."

"Why not question Captain Ellerey?"

"I have done so, but to no purpose."

"I will question him," said the King. "Why not question her Majesty?"

Lord Cloverton suggested. "Captain Ellerey is with her at this moment."

"You shall go with me, Lord Cloverton," said the King. "Since you have

such suspicions it is no time for secret questionings. Her Majesty

shall hear your accusation and shall answer it."

The Ambassador bowed. The King's decision pleased him. If he had not

succeeded in raising the King's suspicion, he had raised his anger,

which would serve the same purpose, and Lord Cloverton still held the

trump card in his hand.

The moment Ellerey had left her, the Queen glanced hastily around the

room. She slipped the box she had shown him underneath some papers in

her drawer, and then with a smile reseated herself, and, drawing paper

toward her, she rapidly began to write a note to Frina Mavrodin.

She rose quickly with a little gesture of surprise when the King and

the English Ambassador were announced. The King strode into the room,

anger still in his face, but Lord Cloverton came to a halt near the

door.

"Your Majesty is welcome," said the Queen, "but you look troubled. I

fear I spend too little time helping to share your Majesty's

difficulties."

"To defeat intrigues is my hourly occupation, Elena, but there are

some intrigues, or whispers of them, which call for special treatment;

they are not to be met by counterplot, but by open speech and outspoken

denial."

"Am I accused?" the Queen asked.

"Lord Cloverton has seen fit to warn me."

"Of what?" she asked innocently, looking toward the Ambassador.

The King hesitated for a moment, almost as though he wished Lord

Cloverton would speak. "To-night you have received Captain Ellerey in

private audience," he said after a moment's pause.

"I have."

"May I know for what purpose?"

The Queen looked first at her husband, then at the Ambassador, her

glance lingering on the latter for a moment.

"I cannot tell you why," she answered slowly. "It was a matter of no

great importance, but it was essentially private. I would be unfair

to Captain Ellerey to speak of it."

It may have been the flicker of triumph upon the Ambassador's face

which urged the King on.

"We expected to find Captain Ellerey still with you."

"The audience was a short one," was the answer.

"I am afraid I must demand to know its purport," said the King. "I do

so in your own interests."

"You wish me to deny some accusation Lord Cloverton has made against

me. I tremble lest I may be unable to do so. Of what frivolity do I

stand accused?" and she smiled at the Ambassador with an innocent

expression on her face pleading for lenient judgment.

"Of no frivolity," said the King. "Lord Cloverton has suggested that

you have despatched this Captain Ellerey upon some secret mission to

the enemies of our country, seeking to do us a service, but in truth

jeopardizing our policy of peace, perchance our throne. In substance,

my lord, that is your accusation, I think?"

"That is so," returned the Ambassador.

"To what enemies?" asked the Queen, after a pause.

"Is there any need to particularize?" said the King irritably. "The

accusation is either true or false."

"It is false."

The denial was quietly spoken, but an angry flush glowed in her cheeks.

"By your Majesty's leave, such an accusation should be definite, and

again I ask, what enemies?"

"I will be definite," said Lord Cloverton. "Doubtless you have not

considered well--"

"Be direct, too, my lord; what enemies?"

"I will. I mean those enemies who are in communication with the traitors

who have joined the brigand Vasilici in the mountains."

"You accuse me of holding communication with these men?"

"Your Majesty must pardon my bluntness, I do."

"You are pardoned, and thanked also," she said lightly. "Such bluntness

comes more directly at the heart of the matter than much diplomacy,

and is more easily answered. I deny the charge." And then, turning to

the King, she went on: "For my own protection I am constrained to tell

you the purpose of Captain Ellerey's visit to me. He has quickly

received the favor of one of the ladies of our Court, a favor for which

I am in some measure responsible. When Captain Ellerey first came among

us, he furnished us with subject for jesting by declaring that no woman

had ever played a serious part in his life. I expressed a belief that

such a statement would rouse feminine enthusiasm in Sturatzberg, and

I have since often questioned him whether he could truthfully repeat

the declaration. It was a jest, but seriousness has come of it. Captain

Ellerey's ambition has flown high, even to the Countess Mavrodin. Such

an ambition must bring him bitter enemies, in numbers like leaves in

autumn; and if to-night I have persuaded him against soaring so high,

if I have made Frina Mavrodin's position in Sturatzberg plainer to him

and endeavored privately to warn him against such an ambition, have

I done aught to pander to my country's enemies or to jeopardize your

Majesty's throne?" The question was asked in such a manner as to make

the King laugh.

"No, but by my faith, your interference may have jeopardized the lady's

happiness. Is she to have no voice in the matter?"

"I fear she is somewhat fascinated by Captain Ellerey," said the Queen

with a smile, "but such a thing as marriage is not to be thought of.

Think of it. Frina Mavrodin and a Captain of Horse! You English place

no limits to your ambition," she added, turning to Lord Cloverton.

"Love leaps over all obstacles," said the King.

But her Majesty was ready with arguments to prove that the affair was

no laughing matter. She even suggested that such a marriage might have

a political significance, might lead to complications which would have

serious consequences, even to some revolution such as Lord Cloverton

had accused her of fostering. It was no laughing matter as his Majesty

would make it, and her interference was not unnecessary, but intended

to serve the State. Even were Captain Ellerey to rise to great

distinction, she argued, such an alliance would still be fraught with

danger. The Countess Mavrodin with her wealth, with her prestige, and

her close connection with the noblest houses in Sturatzberg, was not

for a soldier of fortune, as, at the best, Captain Ellerey was. She

became eloquent upon the subject, and the King watched the Ambassador,

a smile upon his lips, in anticipation of his discomfiture.

"I had already begun a letter to the Countess," said the Queen, taking

up the paper on which she had written a few lines. "I want to show her

plainly the impossibility of such a thing. Are you satisfied, Lord

Cloverton?"

The Ambassador had remained standing by the door and had not taken his

eyes from the Queen as she talked rapidly. There was no tell-tale

expression on his face to indicate his thoughts. Now he advanced.

"Your Majesty thinks then that this folly, so far as the Countess

Mavrodin is concerned, is a serious matter?"

"I want to find out."

"If I am any judge, it is," said Lord Cloverton, "more serious with

the lady than with the man. Her words went far to confirm my ideas

respecting Captain Ellerey, her manner betrayed her own secret."

"You have spoken to her!"

"Yes, only to-night. Your Majesty exaggerates the political significance

of such a marriage, I feel sure; it would make enemies for Captain

Ellerey, no doubt, but he is the kind of man who is very capable of

defending himself. A greatly daring Englishmen is an awkward man to

encounter, and there seems to be a general desire to enlist the sympathy

of Desmond Ellerey. That has made me suspicious, and using some

knowledge which I possess concerning him, I have endeavored to make

him apply for leave to return to England."

"To save him from the Countess?" said the Queen.

"No, your Majesty; to prevent his being drawn into a plot which seeks

to overthrow the present government of this country."

"Is there such a plot?" she asked innocently.

"A dozen have existed ever since I came to the throne," said the King.

The Ambassador's persistency made him angry.

"Hiding themselves in holes like hunted vermin," Lord Cloverton returned

sharply, "afraid to strike, afraid to be seen, with no plan of action

ready, and altogether futile. I do not speak of such plots as these,

but of one particular plot, whose ramifications spread and grow from

end to end of Wallaria, penetrating to the very heart of the nation

as surely as tree roots push their way to water. The head of it looks

up watchfully from the hidden intrenchments on the mountains at

intervals, waiting for the moment to strike. Anxiously is it waiting

now."

"For what?" cried the King. "In heaven's name, for what, Lord

Cloverton?"

"For the token her Majesty delivered to Captain Ellerey to-night."

A profound silence followed this deliberate accusation. So unflinchingly

was it made, so evident was it that the Ambassador had some knowledge

which he had not divulged, that the King found no words to utter. He

looked helplessly at the Queen like a man who has received a blow which

has dazed him for the time being. The Ambassador's knowledge startled

the Queen, too, but she did not shrink before his steady scrutiny. She

was the first to break the silence.

"I gave no such token," she said.

Lord Cloverton started slightly at being given the lie so directly.

What subterfuge was a woman not capable of?

"You have your answer, my lord," said the King, moving toward his wife.

The Ambassador bowed. He could hardly pursue the matter further unless

the King assisted him, and he turned to leave the room.

"You are not satisfied?" said the King sternly.

"No, your Majesty."

"What proof can you have? What was the token?"

Lord Cloverton turned quickly. It was the very question he had hoped

for.

"A sacred treasure of Sturatzberg, the iron bracelet her Majesty is

accustomed to wear upon her arm." Again there was silence, and, set

as his face was, the mask was insufficient to hide the Ambassador's

excitement. The Queen stood for a moment quite conscious of the dramatic

effect of the silent pause, and then she made three rapid strides

toward the Ambassador. With a sudden sweep of her right hand she ripped

open the left sleeve of her gown from wrist to shoulder and thrust out

her arm to him.

"I demand your apology, Lord Cloverton."

She stood imperiously before him, looking down at him. Fire was in her

eyes, an angry flush upon her cheeks, triumph in look and gesture. It

would have gone hard with any subject who had dared to accuse her. The

Ambassador was obliged to murmur his apology, for, tightly clasped

upon the gleaming white and rounded arm, was the bracelet of iron.

CHAPTER IX.

THE DUEL

The aspect of the night had changed when Ellerey and his companion

left the palace. Fleecy clouds raced across the sky, veiling the face

of the moon at intervals, and making her light fitful and uncertain.

The air struck cold after the warmth within, but beyond drawing his

cloak a little closer round him, Desmond Ellerey seemed indifferent

to the night and to the business he had in hand.

He asked no questions, and with his eyes bent on the ground followed

his companion mechanically. The cause of the quarrel interested him

more than the issue of it. Why had Baron Petrescu drawn him into this

duel? It had obviously been carefully planned, and the insult

deliberately given at a moment when Ellerey was least desirous of

placing his life in jeopardy. He could only assume that her Majesty's

schemes were, to some extent at least, known to the Baron, and that

having other interests to serve, he was bent on incapacitating him

from performing the mission he had undertaken. That the Baron had any

personal quarrel with him he did not believe.

Ellerey's companion, on the other hand, was interested in the night.

Each time the moonlight grew pale, or died out altogether for a moment,

he looked at the sky and glanced quickly at Ellerey. He was the more

excited of the two.

"This is a treacherous light for our work," he said, presently. "We

should have been wiser to have waited until morning."

"I have other work for the morning," Ellerey answered.

"Are you a skilful swordsman? The Baron is."

"Is he?" said Ellerey, indifferently. "I have some reputation in my

regiment, but doubtless I shall be a better judge of my skill presently.

Where do we go?"

"To tell the truth, I hardly like the rendezvous," was the answer. "It

is a stretch of sward behind an obscure tavern in this part of the

town. Did I not know the Baron to be an honorable man, I should have

refused the meeting in such a place. Your decision to fight to-night

made our choice limited."

Ellerey stopped and looked about him. They had turned from a side

street into a narrow thoroughfare with tall, dark houses on either

side. The neighborhood looked particularly uninviting.

"Where are we?" he asked suddenly, remembering that he knew nothing

of his companion, and that by accepting the service he had so readily

offered he might be quietly stepping into a trap. Such a thing would

agree very well with the rest of Baron Petrescu's behavior.

"Beyond knowing that we are in the purlieus of a lower part of the

town and on the outskirts of the city, I am as puzzled as you are."

"You seem very credulous of the Baron's honesty, monsieur, to agree

so such a place as this. Which way now?"

"To the bottom of this street, where we are to wait. The Baron's friend

will meet us there."

"We will keep the appointment so far," said Ellerey shortly. "I came

to meet Baron Petrescu, but I am not minded to step blindly into a

nest of cut-throats." He strode on as alert now as he had been

indifferent before, and it was not until they had nearly reached the

end of the street that his companion spoke.

"One moment," he said. "By that light yonder we are to wait. You do

not trust me, Captain Ellerey?"

"I have not said so."

"That admits my statement," was the answer. "Until a moment

ago that aspect of the case had not presented itself to

me, but on reflection I can hardly wonder at your distrust. The

circumstances tell against me, but had I been in any conspiracy against

you, I should hardly have called your attention to the strangeness of

the rendezvous. I have, however, a better guarantee of my honesty: I

am a countryman of yours, an Englishman. I like this affair as little

as you do; but if you are minded to see it through, I have a sword and

the will to fight beside you should there be any attempt at treachery.

There's my hand upon it."

It was not the words, but the manner in which they were spoken that

convinced Ellerey, and he took the hand held out to him.

"Forgive my momentary suspicion," he said. "We meet by the light yonder,

you say."

The light came from a dim lamp in an upper window. It might have been

placed there as a signal, or some poor seamstress, in the struggle for

a livelihood, might be ruining her health and sight by it. It must,

at any rate, have been very constantly there, or it would not so readily

have been mentioned to mark a place of meeting. As they went toward

it, the figures of two men became dimly visible standing in the shadow

of the wall. One advanced to meet them, and addressed himself to

Ellerey's companion.

"I much regret this unusual mode of procedure, but it is unavoidable

under the circumstances and in view of your friend's decision to fight

to-night. May I request that you will follow us in silence?"

The other man moved from the shadow. It was Baron Petrescu; and going

to the house which was next to that in which the lamp shone, he knocked

twice at the door in a peculiar manner which was evidently a known

summons to those within. Some considerable time elapsed before the

summons was answered, but the Baron showed no impatience, and this

manifest knowledge of the ways of the establishment did not inspire

Ellerey with confidence. Once within, murder and concealment of the

crime might be easy. Who was there in all Sturatzberg to know that he

had ever entered this house? And how many were there in the wide world

to care whether he ever left it?

Presently the door opened a little space, and a shaggy head was thrust

out in a truculent manner. Whether the Baron spoke to him, or whether

the man recognized his visitor, Ellerey could not determine, but the

door was opened wide, and they were admitted into a small, ill-lighted

lobby. The entrance was a private one, not a usual _cafe_ entrance,

but the smell of stale liquor and smoke and the reek of highly spiced

dishes proved that the _cafe_ was under the same roof, and proclaimed

it as a resort of that lower stratum of society which loves its food

pungent and highly flavored. That there was such silence in the house

was surprising.

"A private visit, Theodor," said the Baron. "We do not join the assembly

to-night. Reassure them, and let us have a word with you."

Theodor opened one of the folding-doors in the lobby, and in a

stentorian voice shouted some word, which Ellerey did not catch. Its

effect was magical. Immediately there arose a loud hum of voices, the

clinking and clatter of innumerable glasses and plates, and the rattle

of dice and dominoes. Then Theodor let the door swing to again, muffling

the sounds of this living hive, and led the way into a small bare room

at the side.

The Baron's companion now became the spokesman.

"We have a little matter to settle, Theodor, a private quarrel which

does concern the good fellows yonder, and of which they must know

nothing. The grass alley in the garden will serve our purpose. Let us

out quietly, and have a care that no one wanders that way to cool an

aching head until we have departed."

Theodor looked from the speaker to his companions, each in turn, and

Ellerey keenly watched the man's eyes to note if any look of

understanding were exchanged. He could detect none.

"Of course, of course, it is a good spot for such matter, but if one

is killed?"

"Well, Theodor, there is earth enough in the garden for burial."

Theodor shrugged his shoulders.

"And you will call none to help you with that work?"

"No. Have I not said that the matter is private?"

"And there is no surgeon."

"I have sufficient skill for that," was the answer. "Come, Theodor,

time presses, and the moon will not serve us long."

"Is it in the cause?"

"No," said Baron Petrescu, sharply, as though he were afraid some

different answer would be given, but Ellerey could not help believing

that the cause, whatever it might be, was at the bottom of the whole

affair, that the Baron had designedly insulted him that evening because

of it, and that his speedy removal was considered necessary to the

well-being of it. Theodor did not seem to believe the Baron's statement

either, but it was apparent that either he had not the power or the

desire to oppose the Baron, for he answered quickly:

"I see. Will an hour be enough?"

"More than enough."

"Good. Then in one hour I will walk through the garden, and shall find

it empty. I shall know that anyone with an aching head is free to cool

it there, and if there be a grave to trample on, what matter? No one

will know."

Without further words he led the way down a narrow passage, at the end

of which he quietly unbarred a door.

"Three steps down," he said by way of caution, as he stood aside to

let them pass. He watched them until their figures were lost in the

shadows of the garden, and then he closed and barred the door again.

It was a garden of some extent, and little heaps of chairs and small

three-legged tables showed that on warm nights the frequenters of the

cafe drank their wine and threw their dice there instead of within.

The lights in the house--the cafe seemed to occupy only the back of

it--shone through the shrubberies, and the murmur and clatter were

plainly audible as the four men crossed the lawn and went toward the

end of the garden along tortuous paths which made the really short

distance seem a long one.

At last they came out on to a level piece of turf surrounded on all

sides by high hedges, through which were many openings leading to other

parts of the garden, and through one of which they had come. There

were trees here and there, the long shadows thrown across the turf,

and without absolutely obscuring the moonlight, they made it extremely

difficult to fight a duel by. Baron Petrescu walked to one end of the

lawn, and Ellerey to the other, leaving the two seconds together to

make final arrangements. Once convinced that his adversary contemplated

no treachery, Ellerey sank again into his indifferent state, paying

no attention to the choosing of the ground, taking no note of the

light, nor considering how he might best use his position to the full

advantage. The Baron, on the other hand, was quick to observe exactly

how the shadows fell, and to calculate every chance which might help

him.

"We are ready, Captain Ellerey."

Without a word Ellerey threw off his cloak and coat, and taking his

sword, weighed it in his hand, testing its poise and balance.

"In case of accident is there anything you wish me to do?" asked his

companion; "anything to take charge of, any message to send? The affair

has been so hurried that there has been no time to make these small

arrangements."

"Thank you, there is nothing," Ellerey answered. "Under the

circumstances I am fortunate in not possessing a friend in the world

who cares a snap of his fingers whether I am living or dead."

"Nor a woman?"

Ellerey hesitated for a moment.

"The Countess Mavrodin might be interested to learn that I was dead.

Yes, if anything should happen, please tell her."

"But in England?"

"There is no one," Ellerey answered.

A cloud passed over the moon as the combatants faced each other, and

not until it had passed was the signal given. Then steel rang on steel

with a music which sounded weirdly in the night. No other sound was

there save a rustling in the leaves now and again as though they

trembled in sympathy to some swift lunge or quickly parried thrust.

The moon shone clearly for a space, touching the swords into two streaks

of flashing light, and painting the men's set faces with a cold hue,

ghostly, and deathlike. The Baron had a reputation as a swordsman, had

stood face to face with an antagonist many times before, and more than

once had seen his adversary turn sightless eyes to the morning sky.

It was therefore, perhaps, only natural that he should have contemplated

his encounter with the Englishman with equanimity. At the same time

Ellerey's determination to settle the quarrel at once and by moonlight

may have had the effect of making him more cautious than usual.

Certainly his second, who had often seen him fight before, marvelled

at his deliberation to-night. The well-known brilliancy of his attacks

was wanting, and he could only suppose that the Englishman was a more

worthy swordsman than he had imagined. Whatever deliberation the Baron

used, he at first pressed the fight far more than Ellerey, whose whole

attention seemed occupied in defending himself. He was less attractive

to watch than the Baron, slower, it seemed, in his movements, and with

less invention and resource, yet Petrescu appeared to gain no advantage.

Every thrust he made was parried, if rather late sometimes, still

parried, and he found that his adversary's wrist, if less flexible

than his own, was of iron. He changed his tactics, he pressed the fight

less and less, hoping to make the Englishman careless, and tempt him

to attack more vigorously. In a measure the device succeeded. Ellerey's

point began to flash toward him with a persistency he had not expected,

but there was no less caution. Twice, thrice, the Baron used a feint

and thrust which had seldom missed their intention, and had proved the

undoing of many an adversary; but now they were met in the only manner

it seemed that they could be met successfully. At the third failure

the Baron's computation of the Englishman's skill underwent a rapid

change. He had met his match, a foeman worthy of his steel, as

consummate a swordsman as himself; and if for a moment there was a

sense of disappointment, it was quickly followed by one of keen

satisfaction not unmingled with a feeling of friendship for his

antagonist. There was that in Baron Petrescu which he had received no

credit for, even from his friends. What contempt he had had for Ellerey

disappeared, and a desire to win for the mere sake of winning took

possession of him. All the thoughts which had prompted him to this

duel were forgotten; he was no longer intent on killing his adversary.

Now to verify his superiority and to prove it to this worthy foeman

was his ambition, and it was in this spirit he pressed the contest

with increased energy. The night became full of eyes for him, eager

eyes, watchful of his skill, and hushed in the silence a thousand

voices seemed ready to proclaim his victory.

There was no such complication of thoughts in Ellerey's mind. The Baron

had grossly insulted him, had forced this quarrel upon him, and he

meant to punish him if he could. Whether he killed him or not was of

small consequence so long as he thoroughly taught him a lesson.

Yet to him also the night had eyes, and the air a feeling of movement

in it, stealthy movement that walked on tiptoe and held its breath.

The steel sang, now high, now low, distinct sounds and continuous. The

breeze rustled the leaves then and again, but something else was

stirring in the night, now behind him, now to his right, just where

the high hedges enclosed the lawn. Once he heard it like the rustle

of some startled animal among the dried and fallen leaves, and again

he heard it, less distinct perhaps but more pervading, as when a crowd

waits spellbound.

The Baron's attack grew fiercer again; twice he nearly broke through

Ellerey's defence just when the sounds were audible in his ears. The

Baron's most dangerous thrusts, and the coming of the sounds seemed

to synchronise, as though there were a connection between them, as

though they were parts of some whole. Ellerey almost expected to read

a solution of the mystery in his opponent's eyes, which glittered in

his pale, moonlit face. But the solution was not in the Baron's eyes--it

was behind him. For one instant Ellerey glanced over the Baron's

shoulder to the thick-set hedge beyond, and in an alley there the

moonlight fell for a moment upon a pale face thrust forward a little

too eagerly. The night was alive with eyes.

"It is treachery, then, after all!" Ellerey burst out suddenly, and

as he spoke he used the Baron's own particular feint and thrust, and

his sword point ran swiftly and smoothly into soft flesh.

With a low cry his adversary staggered back and fell, and in that

moment the night was full of voices, too. Men rushed with angry cries

and gesticulations from every alley of the garden, some to this side,

some to that, to surround the little party. In an instant the seconds

had drawn their swords and were beside Ellerey.

"Back, you fools!" came faintly from the wounded man, but the eager

crowd did not heed, even if they heard, him as they rushed to the

attack in overwhelming numbers.

"On my oath, Captain Ellerey, this is no work of mine," said the Baron,

attempting to stagger to his feet, but falling to the ground again.

His second, too, shouted to the crowd, using the Baron's name to enforce

his words, but he might as well have shrieked forbiddance to the

incoming tide. The mad crowd rushed upon the three men from all sides,

and although the flashing swords kept them back for a few moments, and

harsh cries told that one blade or another had done its work, it was

certain that only in flight was their safety against such odds.

As one ruffian staggered back with a yell of pain from the point of

Ellerey's sword, the Baron's second whispered in his ear:

"Make for the alley just in front of you, to the left, to the right

and then to the right again. There is a door in the high wall of the

garden. You are safe if you can reach it. It is you they want, they

will not harm the Baron. Rush for it. I will keep them off as long as

I can."

Ellerey whispered the same instructions to his second, and then, waiting

until the crowd had fallen back for a moment, he suddenly rushed

forward, using his sword and his clenched fist to force himself a

passage. The crowd was taken by surprise, and a cloud hiding the moon

at that moment was in Ellerey's favor. Before they understood his

intention he had reached the alley.

"To the right, then left, then right!" he shouted to his companion,

who was running swiftly at his heels.

"To the door!" rose the shout behind him, and the whole garden was

full of rushing feet.

Ellerey gave a cry of triumph as he caught the latch of the door and

pulled it open, half turning to his companion as he did so. Had he

been an instant later that exultant cry would have been his last, for

at that moment a dagger flashed down upon him, and only by a quick

spring aside did he avoid the blow. The man who had followed him so

closely was not his second.

Before his adversary could recover himself, he struck him full in the

face with the hilt of his sword and sent him reeling back into the

arms of the foremost of his companions. The next instant Ellerey had

slammed the door behind him, and was in a narrow lane on the other

side of the wall.

CHAPTER X.

THE FOLLY OF A SOLDIER

It was not until he had run some distance along the lane that Ellerey

stopped to listen, and fully to realize that his companion was not

beside him. There were no sounds of hurrying feet in pursuit. He could

not have out-distanced his enemies so completely in so short a time;

either they had come no farther than the door in the wall, or had

turned in the opposite direction, perhaps following his companion.

With his sword still in his hand, held ready for deadly work at a

moment's notice, he retraced his steps, his senses sharp set to detect

the slightest sound or movement near him. Heavy clouds had engulfed

the moon now, the darkness was extreme, and the silence of the night

unbroken. He went forward carefully; the darkness might hold a legion

of foes, and the silence be a trap to catch him. Ellerey found the

door with difficulty, indeed by chance, for it was cunningly hidden.

Whatever the danger, he must enter the garden again in search for his

comrade. The door was shut, and as he felt along it from top to bottom,

touching no latch nor handle, nor keyhole even, he realized that

entrance that way was barred. The door only opened from within. He had

stepped back to consider how, and at what point, he could best scale

the wall, when a slight movement close beside him caused him to stand

on the defensive in a moment.

"Is that you, Ellerey?"

"You got out, then? Thank heaven!"

"Yes; I didn't speak because I thought you were one of them, and just

now I'm no match for a babe in arms."

He was leaning against the wall a few feet from the gate. Ellerey had

supposed him farther off by the faintness of his voice.

"Are you hurt?"

"Nothing serious, I think, but I've had a good deal of blood let out

of me. I should have occupied that grave in the garden for a certainty

had it not been for the Baron's second, who stood over me when I fell,

and, when the blackguards retreated from the door, put me outside.

This wasn't the Baron's doing."

"Perhaps not," Ellerey answered. "Can you manage to walk?"

"Yes, if you'll let me hang on to you, and we don't have to go far.

When I was put outside something was said about going to the left."

"We'll go to the left, then; but I haven't an idea where we are."

The wounded man was weaker than he imagined. Before they had gone fifty

yards he began to reel, and even as he suggested that Ellerey should

go on and get help, he fainted. Ellerey took him in his arms and carried

him. His one idea was to get as far away from the scene of the night's

adventure as possible, but his progress was slow. His comrade revived

presently, but although he tried to walk again, the task was beyond

him. So Ellerey carried him, resting at intervals, all through the

night. As long as darkness lasted and they were on the outskirts of

the city they were unlikely to be stopped and questioned, but with

dawn it would be different. Ellerey was without his coat and cloak,

there had been no time to seize them as he rushed from the garden, and

he carried a grievously hurt man in his arms. The first peasant,

trudging to his early toil, who caught sight of them would run and

tell the news as he went. Such publicity was to be avoided at all

costs, or there would be small chance of his being at the Toison d'Or,

in the Bergenstrasse, to keep his appointment. Already a long, thin

streak of gray showed low down in the east, and Ellerey pressed forward

as quickly as possible to find an asylum. He passed the first scattered

dwellings he came to, having no desire to knock up some sleepy peasant

and have to combat his inquisitiveness, as well as his annoyance, at

being so unceremoniously disturbed. Presently where two cross-roads

met he espied a small habitation, from which a thin wreath of smoke

was rising into the morning air, and decided to try his fortune here.

He had set his burden down by the gate when an old woman came from the

house with a pail going to a well in the garden for water.

"Good mother," Ellerey called out, "I would claim your hospitality."

The woman turned to look at him, then set down the pail and came to

the gate.

"What is it? Defend us, there's blood on him!" she exclaimed, pointing

at the prostrate man. "An attack in the night by some ruffians who

would have murdered us, good mother. My comrade is wounded, you see.

Will you give him rest here while I go into the city for help?"

"It is ill work assisting strangers," answered the woman.

"Look at me; is there not honesty in my face?"

"Aye, I quarrel not with your face, but there is that on your tongue

which does not greatly please me."

"The accent of a foreigner?" asked Ellerey. "Shall I tell you a secret?

The time is coming when you shall have little enough of such an accent

through the length and breadth of the land."

"For such a prophecy you are welcome," she answered, opening the gate.

"You may come in."

Ellerey carried his companion up the garden path, and with the help

of the woman and her grandson, who stared in wonder at their coming,

soon had him comfortably placed on a pallet in the little room.

"Send Dr. Goldberg to me," said his companion; "he lives close to the

palace, and is a friend and discreet."

The mention of the name caused Ellerey to look closely at the man's

face for a moment. He had been a true comrade, and Ellerey had given

little thought to his identity; now he wondered, and a smile wrinkled

the corners of his mouth.

His companion in safe keeping, Ellerey began actively to consider his

own affairs. He knew Dr. Goldberg by reputation, but he had no desire

to visit him just now. To invent a tale to satisfy the doctor would

be difficult, and might well be left to the wounded man. He took up

his companion's cloak--he could hardly go into the city as he was--and

then left the room, beckoning the woman to follow him.

"I will send the doctor at once, good mother," he said, "and there is

something to help my poor thanks. Can you give me a piece of paper and

lend me a pencil?"

The golden coins clinking in her hand would have purchased a far greater

service. The pencil and paper were brought, and Ellerey wrote rapidly

for a few moments; then tore the paper in half. He folded each portion

carefully, placing one in his pocket, the other he kept in his hand.

"If the lad would earn something, send him after me quickly," he said,

and then he went up the garden path and took the road to the city.

In a few moments the boy overtook him.

"Do you know the palace, my lad?"

"Yes."

"To the right of it there is a large square."

"I know it," answered the boy; "the foreigners who hate us live there."

"I would curb that young tongue of yours, or you'll be using it

squealing for mercy under the whip. Ask there for Dr. Goldberg's house,

and give him this paper. Do you understand?"

The lad nodded.

"Run quickly then, and afterward come to me in the Grande Place. You

know the statue of King Ferdinand there? I shall be beside it. Away

with you. The quicker you do your errand, the greater your reward."

The lad needed no second bidding. He started off at a brisk trot, and

Ellerey pursued his way to the city. The gates were open, and there

were few abroad in the streets as yet; but the thought of the many

hands which had sought to despatch him in the garden last night made

Ellerey proceed with greater caution than he had ever exercised. Only

a few in the dim light could have seen his face sufficiently to

recognize him, but he drew the cloak up to his chin and concealed his

face as much as possible. He avoided the larger thoroughfares, being

undesirous of meeting any acquaintances; and in the smaller streets

which he traversed he might at any moment come face to face with one

of that crowd he had so recently escaped from. He went warily,

therefore, looking for the slightest glance of recognition in the face

of every man he met.

In the neighborhood of the Grande Place he lingered in a side street

until he saw the lad approaching the statue, when he went to meet him.

"You delivered the letter?"

"Yes. I was asked who gave it me, and I said a man I did not know."

"That was true enough," Ellerey returned. "Here's for your trouble.

Would you earn more?"

The boy's eyes glistened as his fingers closed on the silver. It was

easy to buy faithful service in Sturatzberg so long as no one was near

to offer a higher price for unfaithfulness. Ellerey judged that such

a messenger as this lad would pass unchallenged and unnoticed.

"Take this to the Western Gate and ask for the lodging of a Captain

called Ellerey. He has a servant named Stefan--give him the paper."

"He shall have it."

"There is double payment, then. Run, I shall know if your errand is

quickly done, and woe-betide you if you loiter." And having watched

the lad disappear, Ellerey went quickly down a side street, and by

many turnings and doublings on his track, sought to escape any spy who

might chance to be watching him.

At dawn Stefan stretched out his huge limbs upon the settle, and awoke

with a heavy grunt. No matter how deep his potations on the previous

evening, he always awoke early; not fresh, perhaps, that were too much

to expect, but with his wits clear. Sitting up, he glanced round the

room for signs of his master's return, and, seeing none, grunted again

in wonder. A tankard was on the floor beside him, and he drank the

flat remains from last night's measure with a wry face. Then he pushed

open the door of his master's room and looked in.

"Empty!" he said, satisfied that his master had not entered without

being heard. "Here's another street quarrel, maybe, and more torn

clothes to sell to the ragman."

Then Stefan made his morning toilet. It was a simple process. His

ablutions were taken at irregular intervals, sometimes at long

intervals, and this was not the time for them. He ran his fingers

through his hair to take some of the tangle out of it, shook his great

frame to force his clothes into comfortable position, tightened his

loosened belt, and took off his boots. For a few moments he sat on the

settle, his legs stretched out wide apart, then he drew his boots on

again, and stamping himself firmly into them, was ready for whatever

the day might bring forth.

The street was still silent and deserted as Stefan went to the door

and looked to right and left. The neighborhood was one of the last in

the city to stir itself. If Stefan felt any anxiety regarding his

master, there was no expression in his face to mark it. He was stolid

and imperturbable; would have remained so probably had Ellerey been

carried up the street dead on a shutter. He grunted now and then,

walked half a dozen paces from the door and back to circulate his

blood, and then leaned with his shoulders against the wall as though

he were a fixture there until desperate necessity moved him.

The boy, who turned quickly into the street, and then came along slowly,

looking to this side and that, hardly appeared the kind of visitor

necessary to move the soldier. Stefan looked at him because there was

no one else in the street to look at; but he was little interested.

As the lad came nearer, however, the soldier became aware that the

sleepy street was beginning to rouse itself. The blind in a window of

the house opposite was drawn aside for a moment, and a face looked

out. The aspect of the morning seemed speedily to satisfy, for the

blind quickly fell back into its place again. Without actually looking

up, Stefan had seen those peering eyes, and curiously enough they had

him interested in the lad, who suddenly stopped in front of him.

"Can you tell me where a Captain Ellerey lodges?"

"Were you told to go into a street and bawl for information like that

until you found him?" asked the soldier gruffly.

"I spoke no louder than I always do," answered the boy.

"Then it's a hale pair of lungs you've got concealed in that body of

yours. I'm nigh deaf with your shouting. Come within the doorway, my

lad, and whisper. Perhaps I'll catch the meaning of your question when

it does not drum through me like the cry of a drunken crowd of rioters."

Somewhat abashed, the boy did as he was told, and repeated his question

in a lower tone.

"By a strange chance he lives in this selfsame house, but he's not

abroad yet," said Stefan. "We do sometimes sleep, and our day doesn't

begin at cock-crow."

"I don't want him," said the lad, "I want his servant, Stefan."

"By another strange chance he lives here, too. What do you want with

him?"

"Is he abroad yet?"

"Aye, he never sleeps at all."

"I live too nigh the city for fairy-tales," said the boy. "Will you

bring me to this same Stefan? I have a message for him."

"Don't bawl it, lad, whisper. He's of a delicate constitution, this

Stefan--I know, for I am he."

The boy looked doubtful for a moment.

"Is that truth?"

"I like your caution," Stefan returned. "You'll succeed, whether you

deal with men or women, though the women will bring out all your mettle,

I warrant. Yes, truth, I am Stefan."

"I was to give this paper to you."

The soldier opened it and read it, not without some difficulty, it

seemed.

"Who gave you this?"

"A man, I know no more of him."

"Good. Which way lies your home?"

"On the road toward Breslen."

"Good again. Get you home quickly, and look you, my lad, should any

ask what errand you have been on this morning, be a fool and forget.

If your memory's too good, it's like enough some friend of mine will

be spoiling those fine lungs of yours. Hast ever heard a man try to

shout with a sword thrust through him?"

"No, sir."

"I have," Stefan answered. "It's a fearsome sound, like a whisper

bubbling up through water. I'd be sorry to hear it from you. Off with

you."

Stefan watched the boy out of the street, then he went in, and striking

a match, burnt the paper, scattering the charred fragments on the

hearth.

"Here's news that's an excuse for wine," he said, pouring out a liberal

draught into the tankard. "A man gets rusty as an old lock with waiting.

This will grease the action somewhat."

"It's early hours for such refreshment," said a voice at the door.

Stefan winked one eye over the rim of the tankard at the intruder, but

did not pause in his drinking until three parts of the liquid was gone.

Then he drew the back of his hand across his beard and mustache and

sighed with satisfaction. "Never too early to drink thanks for good

tidings, Monsieur Francois."

The Frenchman, with a quick glance round the room, stepped in, a smile

upon his lips. He had told his master more than once that this servant

of Captain Ellerey's was a drunkard and a fool, and that little was

to be got out of him because nothing was ever trusted to him.

"And what are the good tidings," he asked.

"You'll be laughing at me, because you don't understand my disease,

Monsieur Francois. I hate women."

"Hate them! _Ma foi_! Then is your disease very lamentable."

"Well, there it is--I hate them," said Stefan, "but there was one woman

who would not hate me, do what I would. She was a bonny wench, so far

as I am a judge, of bigger girth than most you meet, and with an arm

of muscle to appeal to a soldier like me. At the street corner she'd

wait awhile to see me pass, and she'd remark on the cut of my features

and the stalwart looks of these legs of mine. I took no notice, but

her love was proof against a trifle of that kind. She'd 'make a husband

of me some day,' she said, and those that heard her told me the saying.

There's a vein of superstition in my composition, and for months past

I've been expecting her to keep her word. When a woman's set upon a

matter, where's the hole a man may find safety in? Tell me that,

Monsieur Francois."

The Frenchman shrugged his shoulders, thinking what a fool his companion

was.

"This morning there comes a lad looking up and down the street to find

me, and he says to me, 'Where lives Stefan, he who is servant to that

Captain Ellerey we hear so much about?' And I answers cunningly, knowing

the value of caution in such times as these. At last I admit that I

am, and he says, 'There's a fat woman'--that's what he called her,

Monsieur Francois--'There's a fat woman you're afraid of because she's

going to marry you.' I sweated from every hole in my skin, thinking

the time had come. Then says he: 'You needn't be afraid any more. She

was married yesterday to a timber-cutter from Breslen way, and he'll

tame her fast enough like you might a hungry sparrow in winter time.'

Good tidings, Monsieur Francois, believe me, though I doubt the taming

and pity the woodcutter. Why, the muscles in her arm wouldn't blush

to be seen by the side of mine, and a woodcutter would have to cut

deep into the forest before muscles stood out like these." And with

a great laugh Stefan bared his brawny arms for the Frenchman's

inspection.

"Very beautiful," said Francois.

"I believe you. Too good to waste in fondling a woman. Ugh! What brings

you so early to the Western Gate?"

"I have a message for the Captain."

"Ah, from Monsieur De Froilette?"

"I only carry messages for my master."

"I'll deliver it. Tell me quickly, and you shall taste a drop of real

Burgundy, to keep the morning air out of your return journey."

"I was to tell it to the Captain personally."

"What!" thundered Stefan, "am I not to be trusted, then?"

"You know the value of caution in these times," said Francois, "you

spoke of it just now. Monsieur De Froilette is over-cautious, Stefan;

that is the truth."

"It is a weakness of all masters," the soldier replied, "and so they

overreach themselves. Give me a little confidence, and I am content,

but distrust me, and my ears are ever on the stretch to catch news

which I may use to my advantage. But I have no quarrel with you. The

Captain is out, you must await his return, and while you wait you shall

taste his Burgundy."

"Out! So early!"

"Oh, he's in love, I think, for he walks under the stars often, and

on his return sighs like a gathering storm. I hear things, Monsieur

Francois. I know."

The wily Frenchman nodded sympathetically.

"Perhaps I might find a market for what you know."

"That's been in my mind these many days," Stefan answered. "It's the

first word that sticks in my throat. I've never let out secrets before,

maybe because no man has told me any. Come, the wine may loosen my

tongue."

He took two tankards and a key from the shelf, and led the way along

a passage. The Frenchman followed eagerly, laughing at his companion's

simplicity. It would be strange if Stefan could not tell him some news

which would be useful to Monsieur De Froilette.

"You have your wine in safe keeping," he said, as Stefan went down

into a cellar, bidding Francois to wait until he had struck a light.

"Would you have us keep it in the doorway for every thirsty throat in

Sturatzberg? Come down now. Sit you on that empty barrel there. Here's

wine should make you dream to your heart's content. The Captain will

think that it has leaked somewhat. Scurvy treatment, Monsieur Francois,

to have such wine in hiding and never ask a soldier comrade to pass

an opinion. So we help ourselves."

"To his wine and to his secrets, eh?"

Stefan drowned his loud laughter in a copious draught, while Francois

sipped with the air of a connoisseur.

"Fit for a king's palate," he murmured.

"Say rather for the gods. Nectar, monsieur, nectar! My secrets bubble

to my tongue as the wine bubbles to the surface."

"Turn them into good money, Stefan. After all, what is this English

Captain to you?"

The soldier set down his tankard and lowered his voice into a

confidential whisper.

"There are some who take me for a fool," he said, coming nearer to his

companion. "The Captain did not return last night, and there have been

watchers in the street."

"Watchers? Go on, Stefan, what else?" said the Frenchman, eagerly.

"Aye, I saw one draw back a blind in the house opposite not an hour

ago. What do you make of that, Monsieur Francois?"

The answer was a smothered gurgle, for a cloth had been suddenly tied

across the Frenchman's mouth. It was in vain that he tried to free

himself. He was no match against the muscles Stefan had shown him a

little while ago; and before he had fully realized what had happened,

he was bound, gagged, and lying on his back on the floor.

"You'll have ample time to find out how much of a fool I am, Monsieur

Francois," said Stefan, "for unless a miracle should happen you'll be

sharp set for a meal before you leave here. Never look so solemn, man;

you won't die. I'll send and release you as soon as it is safe to do

so; and if it will save your character I'll let your master in the

Altstrasse know that you did your best to carry out his instructions

and make a fool of me. Should you be able to drag yourself about

presently you have my full permission to hold your mouth under any tap

there in the cellar, and we'll never ask for payment of the score."

And drinking the wine which remained in his own tankard and also in

the Frenchman's he left the cellar, locking the door after him.

A few minutes later he walked down the street with a self-satisfied

smile, a strapped-up bundle under his arm, and was soon lost to view

in the lower purlieus of the city.

That night seven horsemen left Sturatzberg, riding singly, and not all

by the same gate. But, by whichever gate they left, they halted when

they had ridden out of sight, and turned aside to reach the Breslen

road. The last to go was Stefan. He went by the Southern Gate, and

once free of the city, urged his horse forward toward the forest which

lies between Breslen and Sturatzberg.

CHAPTER XL

IN THE BOIS

The Bois lay without the Northern Gate. The work of planting gardens

and cutting carriage roads through the nearer stretches of the forest

which touched the city on this side was due to Ferdinand I, whose

statue stood in the Grande Place, the only useful action of which he

had ever been guilty, it was said.

Early in the morning men riding in the Bois had inquired of one another

whether the story concerning Baron Petrescu were true. One had heard

this, another that. It was whispered that the Baron had been killed

in a duel by a member of the British Embassy, who had also been

seriously wounded; and again, that he had wounded his adversary and

had then been nearly killed by his adversary's partisans. Then one man

inquired the name of the woman and another where the duel had been

fought, for there was a law against duelling, although it was seldom

enforced. The true story did not become public property, but it was

presently known that the Baron's wound was a slight affair after all,

and that the duel had not been fought with a member of the Embassy.

Captain Ward had certainly been injured, but that was the result of

an accident; they had Dr. Goldberg's word for it. It was then that the

younger wiseacres smiled. Baron Petrescu was an easy lover, and had

been punished for some indiscretion. Some townsman, perhaps, with the

luck on his side, had got the better of the master of fence. No wonder

the Baron wished to keep the matter quiet. Lord Cloverton knew the

true story. Captain Ward had sent to him directly Dr. Goldberg had got

him home, and the Ambassador shut himself in his room to consider his

course of action. After his failure to entrap Queen Elena last night,

and the King's anger consequent upon his accusation, his position was

an extremely difficult one. The Queen had outwitted him, but the fact

remained that Captain Ellerey was not to be found at his lodging this

morning. He had ascertained this fact. There was no doubt that Ellerey

had some understanding with her Majesty, and might have already left

the city on his mission. The token might have been changed at the last

moment. He had failed to arouse the King's suspicion through the Queen,

but the interests at stake demanded instant action, and another method

must be used. So Lord Cloverton went to the King and again apologized

for the mistake his zeal had led him into. Her Majesty had, of course,

proved how innocent her audience with Captain Ellerey had been, but

the fact remained that Ellerey was the moving spirit in a rebellion.

The sooner means were taken to obtain possession of his person the

better. In this manner the Ambassador quickly made his peace, and

messengers galloped hastily through the city from the palace.

The night had been a sleepless one for Frina Mavrodin. From the moment

she had seen those figures descending the stairs, her thoughts had

been fixed in one channel. She knew the Baron's reputation as a

swordsman, and her heart went with the man who had met his insult with

so swift a demand for retribution. The cause to which she was attached,

for which she was prepared to squander her wealth, to give her life

even were that necessary, had compelled her companionship with this

adventurous Englishman. She had met him in a spirit of raillery,

measuring her woman's wit and beauty against his brusqueness, and his

resourcefulness and calm determination had won her admiration. The

cause was altogether forgotten sometimes in the mere pleasure she had

in being with him. He was not as other men, quick with a compliment,

ever ready to please. Not a word of love had he spoken to her, yet his

eyes had always sought her first in the throng, whether it were in the

Bois or at Court, and, having found her, he looked no further. If she

indulged in dreams sometimes, they were shadowy visions, pleasant

enough, but taking no distinct shape, demanding no definite

consideration.

The awakening had come when Princess Maritza had spoken of him. She

had said little, but Frina had read the deeper meaning underneath her

words. As a Princess, Maritza had watched the man's career, believing

that one day he might prove useful to her cause; but as a woman she

had also remembered the circumstances of their meeting, and had

treasured them in her heart. Only with this discovery had Frina Mavrodin

become fully conscious of all Captain Ellerey's companionship meant

to her. The flood-gates were suddenly opened, and the rushing torrent

of her emotions threatened to sweep away all thought of the cause she

had worked for, and loved, and believed in. Almost had she told him

her secret to-night by her eager questions, and the blood mounted to

her cheeks as she remembered. How would he have answered her had he

not been summoned to audience with the Queen? Leaning at the open

window, looking at the heavy clouds which presently obscured the moon,

she passed a night of restless anxiety. Somewhere, perhaps very near

her, the man she loved had faced death to-night, calmly, fearlessly;

even now he might be lying with sightless eyes toward the coming day,

the new day which was so long in coming.

It came at last, and with her eyes bathed to remove all traces of the

night's vigil, she went as usual to breakfast with the Princess, who

was always an early riser. Since the night they had spoken of Captain

Ellerey there had arisen a subtle difference in their relations toward

each other. It hardly amounted to restraint, but the Countess was more

reserved, and the Princess talked little of her hopes and plans. She

made more show of taking her companion into her confidence, but told

her less. For this difference, perhaps, Frina was chiefly responsible.

Maritza felt that she had grown lukewarm, not to her personally, but

toward the cause which took so few and such trifling steps toward its

end. She did not wonder at it. No day passed in which she herself had

not a period of despair, a passionate longing to drive things to a

speedy conclusion, though the end brought failure. To her, her cause

was paramount, and she would not allow herself to think of Desmond

Ellerey apart from it; yet when Frina had in a manner claimed him, she

remembered that morning on the downs, every hue of land and sky, every

sound that had sung in her ears, every perfume the air held, and the

centre of all was this man, who seemed then to be her possession. He

had come to her country, not at her bidding, perhaps, but at her

suggestion surely, and she had a right to his allegiance. It was a

woman's argument, and a weak one, yet her heart seemed to excuse her.

They were still at breakfast when Dumitru was ushered in.

"Pardon, Princess, but I have news--important news. It could not wait."

"You are welcome, good Dumitru. Does the news mean action? Such is the

only news I long for now."

"Yes," was the answer. "This English Captain is about to move. Whether

he has the token or not I do not know, but Baron Petrescu believes he

has. Last night he picked a quarrel with him, and they fought, and--"

"Fool that he is!" exclaimed the Princess, starting from her seat.

"Does not the Baron know that I had work for this Englishman? and now

he has killed or maimed him in a useless quarrel."

"But it was not so, Princess; it was the Baron who fell."

Frina Mavrodin had also risen from the table, her hands clasped firmly

together in her excitement, and a little sigh of relief echoed Dumitru's

words.

"A new experience for Baron Petrescu," she said calmly.

"Ah, Countess, this Englishman is a devil," the man went on rapidly.

"I had it from one who watched the fight. There was little moon, and

the light was dancing and treacherous. The Baron used all the art which

before has brought death when he willed, but this English Captain cared

not. He knew all the Baron's art, and besides something which the Baron

knew not. The Baron would have been killed had not those who were

watching saved him."

"They interfered?" said the Princess.

"Yes, to save the Baron."

"They did not stop at that?" said the Countess eagerly. "Tell me what

happened."

"Have I not said he is a devil?" answered Dumitru. "They rushed upon

him and he fought them all. A sword thrust here, a blow with his fist

there, a savage breaking through them, and he escaped--unhurt."

"Splendid!" exclaimed Frina, her face aglow.

"Splendid, Frina? Is not the Baron our friend?" Yet there was a glow in

Maritza's eyes, too.

"And is not Captain Ellerey the man you have work for? You should

rejoice."

The Princess looked at her for a moment, and then she smiled. "Yes,

it was splendid, as you say. What more, Dumitru?"

"The friend of the Englishman was killed, I think. He was of the

Embassy. There will be much questioning over the affair."

"The Baron's folly is likely to ruin us," said the Princess.

"There is still Captain Ellerey," said Frina.

Dumitru looked at the Princess, the slightest flicker in his eyes

attracting her attention.

"I am not sure the other man is dead," he said. "Might I suggest that

the Countess should drive as usual, and hear what is said in the Bois?

Then to-night we can plan and arrange. The time has surely come."

"Will you, Frina?"

"I will, and you may rest assured that I will have the whole story by

to-night."

When she had left the room Princess Maritza turned hastily.

"What more, Dumitru?"

"Much more, Princess; but it is only for your ears."

Frina Mavrodin had sped along the corridor so swiftly that she did not

hear the door locked after her to prevent her sudden return or the

intrusion of others. For a while she had no thought but a half-barbaric

satisfaction that Baron Petrescu had justly suffered for his unprovoked

insult; but this was succeeded by fears for Ellerey's safety. He had

escaped last night, but he had other enemies besides those who had

attempted to assassinate him in the garden-more dangerous enemies,

perhaps. She determined to know nothing, to school her face to

indifference, while she eagerly learned all she could.

She lunched with a friend, the wife of a member of the Austrian Embassy

who had often quite unconsciously given her valuable information, but

she could add nothing to her knowledge to-day. She knew Baron Petrescu

had fought a duel and had been wounded, but she did not know who his

opponent was. Later, in the Bois, Frina heard many versions of the

story, but not in one of them was Captain Ellerey's name mentioned.

She did not understand it. There was some undercurrent of intrigue

going on of which she was ignorant. Her carriage was drawn up to the

side of the road, where she was holding a small court of pedestrians,

when she caught sight of Lord Cloverton. It was seldom that he walked

in the Bois, but that he should be there in confidential colloquy with

Monsieur De Froilette was nothing short of marvellous.

Lord Cloverton saw the Countess, and stopped a little distance away.

He wanted to speak to her, but had no desire that De Froilette should

be a third at the interview.

"I am exceedingly obliged to you, monsieur," he said to his companion.

"Any information respecting Captain Ellerey's whereabouts just now

will be of immense advantage to me--that is, to the country. He is one

of those reckless young men who, while winning our admiration, do not

blind us to the fact that they are dangerous."

"Ah, I have admired him and seen the danger for a long time," De

Froilette answered. "The commercial interests I have in this country

force me to keep pace with its politics. I am not an expert, and it

is sometimes very difficult."

"I can quite believe it," said the Ambassador, looking, however,

wonderfully incredulous. "I do not fancy I have ever heard in which

direction your commercial interests lie."

"Timber, my lord."

"A profitable business."

"I hope so in the future. At present there is too much unrest. With

the Princess Maritza in Sturatzberg--"

"In that I think you are mistaken, monsieur."

"No, my lord. Mine was trusted information. Through the same channel

I shall learn where Captain Ellerey is."

"A spy, monsieur?"

"He would be hurt to hear himself called so. He is a servant of mine,

interested in my business, and a valuable fellow. He has known Captain

Ellerey's movements for months past, and even now, I warrant, is at

his heels. You shall hear from me, my lord, the moment he returns."

"A thousand thanks, monsieur; you will place me under an obligation.

And the value of the news will depend on the state of the timber trade,"

he added to himself as he turned away. "Something has frightened

Monsieur De Froilette; I wonder what it is."

Joining the little crowd round the Countess Mavrodin, he entered into

the conversation with the heartiness of a man who hasn't a care in the

world; and one by one the others withdrew, it was so evident that the

Ambassador intended to remain. Frina Mavrodin desired nothing better.

Lord Cloverton could doubtless tell her the truth, and although she

did not for one moment expect him to do so, she thought she could

probably draw it from him with the help of the knowledge she already

possessed.

"My horses are getting rather restive, they have been standing so long.

Will you drive with me, Lord Cloverton?"

He thanked her and got in beside her.

"One seldom sees you in the Bois," she said.

"No. I will be honest. I sometimes sleep in the afternoon, Countess."

"And to-day?" she queried, with a laugh. "To-day business brought me.

I hoped to see you."

"Surely you flatter me. Since when have you considered me capable of

being business-like?"

"I am all seriousness, Countess. Politics in Sturatzberg are as dried

wood stacked ready for burning, and a torch is already in the midst

of it. Until now the torch has been moved hither and thither, giving

the wood no time to catch; but now I fear the flame is held steadily.

I seem to hear the first sounds of the crackling."

"I seem to have heard the beginning often," she answered, "but a swift

hand has always saved the situation."

"The danger has never been so imminent as it is now, Countess."

"Are you not still in Sturatzberg to cope with the danger?" she asked,

turning to him with a radiant smile. "I stand alone, Countess; what

can one man do? I wonder whether you can credit me with

disinterestedness, whether you can believe that I have the welfare of

this country at heart while carrying out the policy of my own?"

"Is not that the position of every Ambassador?"

"Nominally, perhaps. I was asking you to believe something more definite

in my case," he returned. "Do I ask too much? In a measure, you and

I are drawn together in this crisis. We should be allies."

"Are my poor wits of service either way?"

"A woman is always a valuable ally, and the Countess Mavrodin knows

her power. No, I am beyond turning pretty speeches to-day," he went

on quickly; "the times are too serious for them. You know, Countess,

what occurred last night?"

"I left the palace somewhat early," she said; "but there was an air

of constraint about. What caused it, Lord Cloverton?"

"I was referring to Baron Petrescu's affair. No one has talked of

anything else to-day."

"And you can tell me the truth of it," she exclaimed. "I am glad. I

have heard many stories since I entered the Bois."

"I was expecting to hear the real truth from you," said the Ambassador,

fixing his eyes upon her.

"From me! Am I the wife of some _bourgeois_ in the city to inflame the

Baron's susceptibilities into indiscretion? It is some such tale I

have heard."

"But which you knew to be untrue, Countess."

"I have thought more highly of Baron Petrescu than that, I admit."

"Naturally, seeing that Captain Ellerey is not a _bourgeois_ of the

city, and has no wife as far as I know. My young countryman is no

boaster beyond his worth, it would seem. The Baron has found his match."

"Is that the truth of it?" she asked innocently.

"I congratulate you upon your champion," returned the Ambassador. "You

look surprised, Countess; but in the inner circle of such a Court as

we have here in Sturatzberg such secrets will find a tongue."

"You have changed your serious mood, my lord, it appears, and I am at

a loss to understand the pleasantry."

"Believe me, Countess, I was never more serious. Something of the

Baron's political leanings are known to his Majesty, and the affair

has assumed a political significance in his eyes. The law has lain

dormant, it is true, but duelling is an offence against the crown, and

the King has seen fit to set the law in motion. Captain Ellerey is

sought for in Sturatzberg. I would do my countryman, and you, a service

if I could."

"How am I concerned? I may thank you for your courtesy if you will

tell me that."

"Is it not true that you were the cause of this quarrel?"

"It is absolutely false."

"Stay, Countess, it may be that you are unaware of the fact, but I

have the best reason for knowing that such is the case."

"Captain Ellerey had no cause to draw sword on my behalf, Lord

Cloverton; neither of his own wish, nor at my bidding, did he do it."

"Strange," mused the Ambassador. "It is evident that he thought of

only one person last night. He left instructions with his second that

you were to be immediately informed if any harm befell him. He left

no other message or remembrance to anyone."

She was not sufficient mistress of herself to prevent the Ambassador

noting that the information was pleasant to her.

"It may have been presumption on his part," he went on slowly; "still

such thought can hardly be without some interest for you. No doubt you

would render him a service if you could."

"My friendship would prompt me to do so."

"Then urge him, Countess, to withdraw from Sturatzberg. The torch now

put to the dried wood is in his hand. What is he to me? Nothing; but

I would save him if I could. What he is to you, I do not know. I am

not skilled with women; but for your country's sake urge his departure.

It must be done promptly, for I warn you the fire has already caught

hold, and not all, even now, shall escape the burning."

"Your appeal to my patriotism might stir me, Lord Cloverton, did I

know where to find Captain Ellerey."

"In that, Countess, I cannot help you. I had hoped you would know.

Have I your permission to stop the carriage?" She inclined her head.

They had returned close to the spot from which they had started. There

were fewer carriages in the Bois, and hardly any pedestrians now. Lord

Cloverton had, however, seen a man standing close to the roadway, and

he beckoned him to the carriage.

"What news?" he asked sharply.

"Every gate is closely watched, my lord. By the King's orders Captain

Ellerey is to be stopped if he attempts to leave the city."

"I fear we are too late to render any service," said the Ambassador,

turning to the Countess. "It is a pity. The hand that holds the torch

can hardly escape."

"It is not thought that the Captain has already left, but all efforts

to find him have failed," said the man, and then at a sign from Lord

Cloverton he withdrew.

"I believe we are allies at heart, Countess; it is a pity we have no

power to act."

"Perhaps you exaggerate the danger."

"I fear not," he answered, as he stepped from the carriage. "I foresee

evil days for Sturatzberg. Good-day, Countess; if I can save the

situation, it must be by the sacrifice of my countryman, I fear. It

is a pity."

He stood bareheaded until the carriage had driven away, and then went

quickly toward the Embassy. If Frina Mavrodin knew where Captain Ellerey

was, as Lord Cloverton was convinced she did, she would warn him.

Whatever interests Ellerey had at heart, he would not chance disaster

by attempting to leave the city until the watch upon the gates was

relaxed to some extent. There must, therefore, be delay in whatever

plot was in hand, and a few days now were of priceless value.