Politics had little place in Frina Mavrodin's thoughts as she drove

homeward through the city. She had denied that Desmond Ellerey had

drawn sword in her cause, and yet might he not have done so after all?

What she had seen might only have been the end of a quarrel. Baron

Petrescu may have spoken some light word concerning her which Ellerey

had resented. If Lord Cloverton had spoken the truth, Ellerey's last

thought had been of her. She was quite content that her fair fame

should rest in his keeping. Now he was in danger. Whatever Lord

Cloverton's aims might be, one thing was certain--the city gates were

closed against Ellerey's departure. Without warning he would almost

certainly be taken. How could she help him?

There was confusion at her door when the carriage stopped. Servants

were in the hall expectantly awaiting her.

"What is it?" she asked.

"In your absence, Countess, we were powerless," answered her major-domo,

pale even now with indignation. "The order was imperative."

"What order?"

"The order to search the house."

The Countess started, but was self-possessed again in a moment. Not

all her servants knew of the identity of the Princess.

"For whom were they looking?"

"For an English Captain named Ellerey," was the answer. "I said that

no such person visited here at any time, but they would not believe

me, and searched the whole house."

"And found--"

"No one, Countess."

The man was wise; he said no more before the other servants.

"I will complain to his Majesty," Frina answered, and then she went

quickly to the apartments occupied by the Princess Maritza. Hannah met

her on the threshold. "Has she not returned, my lady?"

"Where is she? How did she have warning?" asked Frina.

"She had gone long before. She went without a word to me. When they

came asking for some Englishman, I had just wit enough to answer that

I was your ladyship's servant, and knew no Englishman; but it was hard

work not to ask them what had become of my Princess."

"And Dumitru?"

"Gone, gone. I always took him for a cut-throat with that naked knife

hidden in his shirt. I believe he has made away with her."

"Peace, woman. Say nothing. A word may ruin her. You can go."

"But, my lady--"

"You can go, I say."

There was a tone in the command that brooked no disobedience. The woman

left the room hastily, leaving the Countess alone.

Alone. A wild rush of thoughts overwhelmed her. The hope and joy that

had budded in her heart were suddenly blighted. The world seemed to

slip away from her, leaving her alone indeed.

CHAPTER XII

GRIGOSIE

The Toison d'Or was an ancient inn standing back from the Bergenstrasse

and reached by a narrow court. It did not advertise itself, was not

easily found, and its frequenters were few. Those who used it seemed

to use it often, for the landlord welcomed them like old friends. They

were of the poorer sort, and the want of comfort in the place did not

disturb them; perhaps the quality of the liquor made amends.

It presented a narrow front to the court, the great walls on either

side appeared to have squeezed it. The two little windows above, the

signboard flat against the wall, and the single door rather suggested

a face; and the door, out of the perpendicular, looked strangely like

a mouth awry uttering a cry of pain. The building was deep, however,

and there was a long, narrow, low-pitched room at the rear, of which

all the frequenters of the place were not aware. This room, even in

broad daylight, was dim, and it grew dark there early. It was still

light in the wider streets of the city, but in this room a candle was

burning on the corner of a table, beside which a man sat. He had pushed

back the remains of a meal, and his fingers played reflectively with

the tankard which the landlord had replenished a few moments before.

The landlord had asked no questions, had attempted no conversation.

When Desmond Ellerey had entered and called for liquor, he had made

a sign to the landlord as he had been instructed, and which was

perfectly understood. Two men were drinking in the doorway at the time,

and when they had gone the landlord led Ellerey to the long room.

"There will be inquiries for me, landlord. Whoever gives the sign bring

him in at once, but no one else, mind."

The landlord nodded.

"Let me have food and drink. I care not what so there is plenty of it.

I have not broken fast since yesterday."

Throwing aside one cloak which he carried over his arm, and loosening

the one he wore, Ellerey disclosed the fact that he was well armed,

and booted and spurred for a journey. Earlier in the day Stefan had

met him at a tavern in the city, bringing these clothes with him as

directed in the note which the boy had delivered. The remains of the

Court uniform which he had worn last night had been hidden away, and

there was nothing now in Ellerey's dress to mark him as a King's

officer.

He had already waited three hours, or more, and began to grow impatient.

The men who had been chosen for this desperate service were already

on their way to the place of rendezvous, and men of this description

were wont to fret at delay and inactivity. He wanted to be away himself,

and until he had the Queen's token safely in his possession he could

not put aside his fears that it would not come, that something had

happened to prevent her sending it. The King's sudden interruption

last night might have forced her to change her plans, might possibly

have caused her to sacrifice him to save herself. At the best, delay

must be dangerous, and he chafed at his enforced idleness, which made

the minutes drag.

At last the door opened and a man entered. It was the same man who had

come to summon him to the audience last night. "You are welcome,"

Ellerey said. "I began to think some circumstance had intervened."

"We have only just escaped such a calamity," was the answer. "By some

means Lord Cloverton had received information of our plans. In the

presence of the King, immediately after your departure, he accused her

Majesty of trafficking with the brigands in the hills, and challenged

her to show the bracelet. It was fortunate that the Queen could do so,

and indignantly demand apology. The first move is much in our favor,

for the accusation made the King extremely angry, and the British

Ambassador is in ill favor to-day. His hands are tied for a little

while, at any rate."

"That I would believe if I saw the knotted cords about his wrists, but

not otherwise," Ellerey answered. "My worthy countryman is not so

easily beaten."

"It is true her Majesty bid me warn you, but without the King what can

he do?"

"He is capable of anything, and has the English vice, or virtue--it

depends on the point of view--of never knowing when he has got the

worst of it."

"Her Majesty is fortunate in also having an Englishman for her

messenger."

"Thank you, monsieur. I think there is something of the same spirit

in me."

"There is the token, Captain Ellerey," and the man handed him a small

sealed box. "The streets are yet full, so it would be wise to delay

your departure for a while. Her Majesty also bid me give you this, an

earnest of what shall fall to the share of her successful messenger."

In Ellerey's palm lay a ring, the jewel in it catching light even from

the feeble ray of the candle. For one moment Ellerey was disposed to

refuse the gift until he had earned it, the independence of the

Englishman rising in him; but a brief hesitation gave the spirit of

the adventurer opportunity to rise uppermost. He might fail, and for

his life be compelled to leave Sturatzberg. It would be some consolation

not to go altogether empty-handed.

"I thank her Majesty," he said. "I shall keep it as a key to win her

further favor should I deserve it."

"Then I will leave you, Captain Ellerey. Fortune smile on you and on

the cause."

As the door closed upon his visitor, Ellerey secured the sealed box

and the ring about his person in such a fashion that the treasure lay

close to the skin. While life was in him no one should rob him of it.

Then he sat down to possess his soul in patience until the streets

should grow dark enough and empty enough for his departure.

It was market day, and he had elected to go by the Southern Gate at

the hour when many would be leaving the city on their homeward journey.

He had no desire to be recognized, and he hoped to pass unnoticed in

the crowd. Stefan had arranged to have his horse waiting for him at

a forester's cottage off the Breslen road, a mile from the city. By

making the meeting-place in the forest toward Breslen, precaution was

taken that should riders be seen going in this direction their real

destination would never be suspected. The brigands lay in the mountains

near the Drekner pass, in exactly the opposite direction to Breslen,

and a wide detour round Sturatzberg would have to be accomplished when

the united band set out in earnest upon its expedition. The token was

at last in his possession, his comrades awaited him, and Ellerey was

anxious to be gone. But he was not the man to fail by being too

precipitate. None knew better the value of deliberate caution, and

with Lord Cloverton fully alive to the danger, there might be many

obstacles to face which had not entered into his calculations. So

Ellerey sat there waiting, while the candle burnt lower, casting, as

the room darkened, a sharper outline of his figure upon the wall.

"Time, surely, now!" he exclaimed at last, starting to his feet.

"Landlord."

The door opened so suddenly that the handle must have been turned even

as Ellerey shouted. But it was not the landlord who entered. Two figures

came in swiftly and closed the door.

"Pardon, Captain Ellerey."

"Well, sirs, what would you with me? I have little time to waste. I

have already called the landlord to pay my reckoning," and as he spoke

Ellerey raised the candle above his head to see what manner of men his

visitors were.

"Friends, Captain," said the foremost of the two, making the same sign

which had gained admittance for the bearer of the token.

He was a man of set features with a pair of keen eyes deeply sunken.

His figure was lithe and sinewy, his movements quick and not ungraceful.

His dress was of the better peasant class, a short knife was sheathed

in his girdle, and one hand rested lightly on the hilt of it as he

stood motionless under the Captain's scrutiny. He might have been a

forester. His companion stood silently in the shadows behind him.

"By that sign you should know the business I have in hand, and that

I have no time to waste in words."

"True, Captain. We are from her Majesty, and know that the token has

been delivered into your keeping here to-night. You have comrades

waiting for you, but too few, such is the Queen's opinion, and she bid

us join your company."

"I do not like the arrangement," Ellerey answered. "My comrades are

picked men that I know the muscles of. I know nothing of you."

"It's a poor welcome, Captain, but it must serve. I have other news

for you which may increase our value."

"You run on too fast, my friend," said Ellerey. "Your coming at this

eleventh hour ill fits with my precaution."

"We have horses without the city, Captain; we are not ill conditioned

for the enterprise."

"You may pass muster for a man. What is your name?"

"Anton."

"You have muscle enough to strike a good blow on occasion, but I know

naught of your courage. And your companion there, what of him? Step

into the light and let me look at you. How are you called?"

"Grigosie, if it please you, Captain."

He stepped out of the shadow as he spoke, and with his arms folded

across his breast, threw back his head defiantly, as though such

inspection were little to his taste. He was a lad in figure and in

voice. His face was innocent of even the down of dawning manhood. His

limbs were clean cut and supple, but they looked too young for stern

endurance. His dress was similar to his companion's save that it was

green in color, and he wore a cap of green drawn down to his brows.

"You're a good-looking boy enough," laughed Ellerey, "but Heaven forgive

her Majesty. Does she think I am bent on some summer picnic that she

sends a child to bear me company?"

"We are wont to go together, Captain. Grigosie is a good scout, and

I warrant is likely to prove useful," said Anton.

"For cooking and bedmaking maybe. We shall have little opportunity for

either one or the other," [illustration: "YOU WILL PARDON ME COUNTESS!"]

Blank Page "Nor should I do either of them except of my own will,"

said the lad.

"A stroke or two of the whip would make you tell a different tale,"

said Ellerey; "and you may thank your lucky fortune that I will not

take you, for the whip would certainly follow."

"I have heard of Captain Ellerey," said the boy, "but never that he

was a bully."

Ellerey looked at him quizzically.

"Well, lad, I did not mean to hurt your feelings. You do not lack

courage, and you'll grow into a stout man for rough work some day. In

this expedition I cannot use you."

"I can use a sword and am a master of fence, and the sword is not the

only weapon which victory hangs upon."

"Peace, Grigosie; I will give the Captain an excellent reason for

taking you."

"Peace, yourself, Anton. Am I to be taken out of charity? Set me to

prove my worth, Captain."

"I have no time, lad," said Ellerey, picking up his cloak. "Anton may

come since we are few, but---"

"There is a fly on the wall, Captain."

"Well, what of it? You are a strange lad."

"It is gone, I warrant; but in case I have missed--darkness."

Two revolver shots cracked in quick succession as he spoke, and the

room was in darkness. Then the landlord rushed in.

"The candle is out; light it again, landlord," said the boy, and then

when it had burnt up he pointed with the revolver to the spot where

the fly had been and where now there was a hole. "I do not think I

missed."

"Leave us, landlord," said Ellerey. "It was the deciding of a foolish

boast."

The lad slipped the revolver into his pocket again and refolded his

arms.

"That was a foolish jest, youngster," Ellerey said. "Do you think such

boastfulness fits you for such work as ours?"

"There are few who could have done it," was the answer.

"True."

"Such precision might serve you were your enemies three to one."

"True again."

"Then ask me to go with you," was the prompt reply.

"May I not even take you out of charity?"

The lad shook his head with a smile, and there was something very

winning in his smile.

"Very well. Will you come with me?" asked Ellerey.

"To the death."

"Your hand on that bargain."

"I'll earn the grip of comradeship before I take it, Captain. Until

then it is for you to order, be it to cooking or to bedmaking."

"You'll serve for sport and as a relief to monotony, if for nothing

else," said Ellerey. "Orders, then. We must be starting."

"You have not heard my further news," said Anton. "It is not time to

start yet."

Ellerey turned upon him angrily. Was his authority so soon to be

questioned?

"Every gate is closed against Captain Ellerey by the King's orders,"

said Anton. "It has been so since noon to-day."

"Is the scent so hot already?"

"We shall leave the city, but not yet. The lad here will show us the

way," Anton answered. "You see I am to be of some service quickly,

Captain," said Grigosie. "Trust me. My way is clear enough, and no

King's order has power to bar it. We must wait a little. I have some

money in my pouch; may I pay for liquor?"

"You're doing me good, youngster," laughed Ellerey. "Order your drinks,

and tell me who they were who fathered and mothered you that you have

such wit. You are not fashioned after the usual breed in Wallaria."

"I am of the pure breed which is being forgotten in the bastard race.

I am of the old stock reared without the city walls. Anton can answer

for me."

"That I can."

The drinks were brought, but the lad drank sparingly. Ellerey liked

him none the worse for that. If wine were found upon the journey, one

sober comrade, though he were a lad, might be more profitable than

half a dozen boasters. The boy talked brightly, and his air of

boastfulness fell from him. There was a tone of deference to the Captain

in his manner which sat gracefully on his young shoulders.

"Were it not that they brought your favor, I should regret the fly and

the candle," he said presently. "I crave your pardon."

"Say no more of it. We'll give you better marks before long, maybe."

"You carry two cloaks, Captain. How is that?"

"One my own, one I borrowed this morning. I am going to leave it with

the landlord to be returned."

"Wear it until we are free of the city. It may conceal you from some

prying eyes. I warrant you are well looked for to-night."

"Have we far to travel to this exit of yours?"

"Some distance, and by narrow ways. If there should be prying eyes we

must close them quickly. We want no shouts to raise a rabble. Is it

not time, Anton?"

"Yes, the gates have been closed for half an hour."

"Come, then," said the lad. "Must we go through the court?"

"There is no other way," Anton answered.

"Then Captain, will you permit that Anton and I go first?" said

Grigosie. "Follow close upon our heels; but should we stop, do not

you; overtake us and push us roughly aside, and we will overtake you

again in a moment. Your pardon that I seem to lead in this matter, but

I know the road we must take."

Ellerey returned a gruff assent to the arrangement. He had looked into

the boy's eyes and seen honesty there, but he was not going to walk

carelessly, for all that.

The inn was empty, so was the court, and there were few people abroad

in the Bergenstrasse. Grigosie and Anton, leading the way by scarce

a dozen paces, turned almost directly from the main thoroughfare into

a side street, and had soon turned to left and right so often that

Ellerey would hardly have found his way back to the Toison d'Or. Not

once did they stop, and if they looked back to see that their companion

was following them, Ellerey was not aware of the fact. He kept close

upon their heels, ready to stand on the defensive at the first sign

of treachery, but he took little notice of where they led him.

Suddenly a street corner struck him as familiar, and the next moment

the truth flashed upon him. It was the street he had traversed last

night. At the bottom there they had met Baron Petrescu. Even now the

light was dimly burning in the upper window as it had been then.

Grigosie and Anton stopped, but when Ellerey reached them he did not

push them aside; he stopped, too. "And now which way?" he asked.

"Toward the light yonder," Grigosie answered.

"My lad, there is a point beyond which I trust no one," said Ellerey.

"I know that light."

"It marks our point of safety."

"Yours, perhaps; not mine."

"I do not understand, Captain."

"If you are innocent, how should you? If you are false, why should

you? Last night I had an appointment beneath that dim lamp. With

difficulty I escaped with my life."

"But you did escape; you know how. To-night there will be no duel. We

shall go direct to that door in the wall."

Who was this youngster that he knew so much?

"It seems to me a desperate chance even if you are honest in advising

it," said Ellerey. "Look you, lad, I give you warning. My life I am

prepared to give, but if by treachery it is taken, I'll see that you

bear me company on that journey, even as you have sworn to follow me

to the death on the other."

"I am content," was the short answer. "Muffle your cloak about your

face and leave me to speak."

They went together toward the light, and Grigosie knocked at the door

as Baron Petrescu had done. There was the same delay, the self-same

shaggy head was thrust out to the intruders. Silence reigned again

until the stentorian voice had shouted, and then the clattering and

the voices started instantly.

The man led them aside into the same room.

"Pass us out through the garden and ask no questions," said Grigosie.

"Who have we here?" asked the man, pointing to Ellerey. "Neither ask

questions nor answer any," Grigosie returned.

"That's too pert a tongue to satisfy me," growled the man. "Signs and

passwords are easily stolen. I'd sooner let some one bear witness with

me after last night."

In an instant the lad was beside him. What he said was in so low a

tone that Ellerey could not catch a word, but the effect was magical.

The surly brute became alert and obsequious. He led them quickly down

the passage, and opened the door leading into the garden. Perhaps

Grigosie did not altogether trust him, for he caught him by the arm,

saying that he should see them safely through the garden, and Ellerey

noticed that Anton was particular to keep close to the man.

At the door in the wall the boy stopped.

"Your cloak, monsieur," he said, turning to Ellerey "You wish it

returned, do you not?"

Ellerey gave it to him and nodded, but did not speak

Grigosie gave the cloak to the man.

"Theodor, see that this is returned to Captain Ward at the British

Embassy. Send it by a trusted messenger, and let him say that he had

it from Captain Desmond Ellerey to-night, an hour before midnight--mark

the time--when he met him in the Konigplatz. Good-night."

The man bowed low as he opened the door for them. When it had closed

upon them Grigosie turned to Ellerey.

"Are you satisfied, Captain?"

The boy's knowledge astonished Ellerey.

"You have reproved me twice to-night, youngster; first for being a

bully, now for doubting you."

"My anger is forgotten," laughed the lad. "The cloak was a good thought.

They will know that you were in the city to-night, and they will search

Sturatzberg for you all day to-morrow. So we gain time. Our horses

await us on the Breslen road; and yours, Captain?"

"Also on the Breslen road."

"Then, Captain, will you order the march? My brief command is over."

CHAPTER XIII

THE CASTLE IN THE HILLS

The first light of a new day awoke a chorus of blended voices within

the depths of the forest. The early matin praise of the birds rose

high and clear above the low-hummed hymn of the insects. The trees

shook out their rustling garments, glorious autumn robes of color,

scattering the dewy tears of night before the smiling day. Among the

fallen leaves were hasty rushes to and fro, while rabbits flashed

across the narrow open tracts.

There was stirring, too, in a dry hollow securely hidden by dense

undergrowth from any traveller who chanced to pass that way. The

whinnying of a horse sounded on the morning air, the rough rubbing of

leather trappings, and the sharp click of steel. There were gruff

laughter and gruffer oaths, man's salutation to the new day, and some

low spoken words of discontent.

The addition to their number was not pleasing to them. The more they

were, the less would each man receive as reward, they argued. Last

night they were half-asleep, and had barely roused at Ellerey's coming.

The men who had come with him, they supposed, were soldiers of fortune

like themselves, men they knew, and even they were not welcome;

but with morning discontent broke out. The new arrivals were not

soldiers, were strangers to them, and one at least was a mere lad.

What good was he in their company?

Stefan did not complain. He noted Anton from head to foot, and did not

like him. He looked at Grigosie and he laughed aloud. He turned to

find Ellerey close beside him.

"This is the first day of the festival, then, Captain?"

"Festival?"

"Surely since we have such company. Some of these fellows might have

brought their sweethearts with them had they known the kind of

expedition they were engaged for. You bid me choose carefully, picked

men who held life and death in such easy balance that they would take

whichever happened without a murmur; and now you bring us a lean

forester who is good for naught but felling trees, and a lad whose

mother might still whip him without offence."

"The lad is well enough, Stefan, and served me well last night."

"Thank him, then, and send him home again. I have a message to send

into the city. It will be employment for him to take it."

"No, he goes with us."

"There'll be much grumbling, Captain. These fellows like comrades they

know the stomach of."

"I'll answer for the boy."

"You'd best do it quickly, then, or there'll be one or two riding back

into Sturatzberg as yesterday they rode out."

"If that is their spirit I'd sooner have lads like yonder beside me

in a tight place," Ellerey answered angrily. Then he went to the men

who were looking to their saddle girths preparatory to mounting.

"Comrades, we have a journey before us which may run smoothly, but

which may bring us hard knocks. The reward is generous to those who

win through. Are we prepared to take our chances one and all?" He

paused, but only a grunt of tardy consent answered him.

"Last night I brought two others to join in our enterprise."

"What need of them?" growled one man, "and one of them a boy."

"They go with me whoever else stays behind," said Ellerey, turning

quickly to the man who had spoken. "Haven't you faith enough in me to

trust my discretion?"

There was no reply.

"It must be tacit obedience, swift action to my command from every man

who bears me company. Mount."

In a moment every one was in his saddle excepting Ellerey himself, who

stood with his horse's bridle over his arm.

"Yonder lies the Breslen road, an easy morning's canter into

Sturatzberg. Who likes may ride that way and free himself from my

authority."

No man spoke or moved.

"Then are we comrades, and do not growl among ourselves," said Ellerey,

springing into his saddle. "Forward! You must find some other carrier

for your message, Stefan."

"And soon, or I'll have murder on my soul," was the answer, as the

troop rode singly out of the hollow and picked its way along a forest

track.

It was high noon before they chanced upon a woodcutter and his boy.

"Give me leave, Captain," said Stefan, bringing his horse to a

standstill. "Here's one may take my message. Aye there, how far is it

to Sturatzberg by the shortest road?"

"Five miles by foot, but riding you'll scarce do it in ten," answered

the woodcutter. "Will you or the lad carry a message there?"

"To-morrow I would. I go with a team there, taking timber."

"To-morrow," mused Stefan. "Why not? He'll last until then. Well, then,

to-morrow. Here's a key. Take it to the Altstrasse. Do you know the

Altstrasse?"

"Surely. I have a brother living there."

"To the Altstrasse--thirteen--to the house of Monsieur De Froilette."

"I have heard of him."

"Then you will do him this service," said Stefan.

"Give him the key, and say that if he has lost his servant, this key

fits a certain cellar door in a certain lodging by the Western Gate.

He will guess which lodging. His servant, loving wine too much, lies

behind that cellar door, howling for his liberty."

"I'll take the message."

"Here's for refreshment by the way," said Stefan, tossing him the key

and a coin. "Monsieur De Froilette will reward you liberally, I

warrant."

"And who shall I say gave me the key?"

"Say a woman you met by the road, if your conscience will sanction the

lie; if not, say a man, and word my picture as you please so that you

make it handsome enough. But do not fail to deliver the message, for

the man behind that door is slowly dying, and, if you do not go to his

rescue, will surely curse you from his grave."

"What does this mean, Stefan?" Ellerey asked, as the troop rode on,

laughing at their companion.

"Francois was watching us, and saw the boy who carried your message

to me yesterday. He came to question me, thinking me a fool, and went

with me to the cellar to hear my story and to drink your wine. He got

no story, and little wine for that matter, unless the ropes have slipped

from his wrists and ankles. I tied him securely before I made him free

of all the cellar contained. He'll be wanting food badly by to-morrow,

when his master finds him."

"It was well done, Stefan. We want no spies about us; but why should

Monsieur De Froilette spy upon me?"

"For the same reason that a hawk watches its prey; it's his nature.

You may snatch chestnuts out of the fire for monsieur, but it's only

the charred husks will be your portion if the dividing is left to him."

All that day they kept to the forest, making a wide detour round

Sturatzberg. Progress was slow along the narrow tracks, and they went

singly for the most part, careful of their horses' steps. That night

they lay within a circle of trees, deep hidden in the woods and far

from the road. For two days they were able to hold to the forest, and

had no expectation of being surprised. They met no one save an

occasional woodcutter or charcoal-burner, and once they disturbed some

robbers who were perhaps near the place of their hidden booty. On the

third day they were on the edge of the forest, and much open country

lay between them and the mountains. The utmost caution was necessary

now.

Ellerey called Grigosie to him.

"Anton said that you would be useful at scouting work."

"Yes, Captain."

"You will go forward with Stefan. Use your eyes and ears well."

The lad saluted, and presently rode out with Stefan. Anton asked to

go with them, but this Ellerey would not allow. He was glad of the

opportunity of separating Grigosie from his companion for a little

while. He had no reason to suspect them, but keeping them apart was

a precaution. Ellerey had instructed Stefan to use the lad well, and

with a grim smile upon his face the soldier rode with his youthful

companion, keeping silence for a time.

"You're a slip of a lad for such work as we have on hand," he said

presently. "How came your mother to part with you so early?"

"Rest her soul, she's dead."

"Your father, then?"

"Dead also," answered Grigosie.

"Well, you knew them, and understand whether their loss was a big one

or not," said Stefan. "Parents haven't counted for much in my case,

so I'm not qualified to speak of their usefulness. You've managed to

grow into a likely sort of lad. Who's had the training of you?"

"I'm my own manufacture for the most part," answered Grigosie, "but

I'm not too proud to learn from an old campaigner like you, Stefan."

The soldier drew himself up in his saddle, and looked knowingly at his

young comrade.

"There's sense in you. Maybe I can teach you a few things. My experience

has been wide and peculiar, and if you listen to my advice and model

your fighting on mine, you'll make a soldier, not of my girth, perhaps,

for that's a gift of nature and not to be had for the asking."

"No; I shall always be of the lean sort, I fear," said Grigosie.

"Don't you be discouraged, lad. There's often good stuff in the lean

ones. It's deep potations that give a man breadth sometimes, and his

habit of growling strange oaths that gets him credit for valor."

Grigosie plied him with questions, and heard many a strange tale of

fighting in which Stefan had done marvellous things.

"Is there no reward for bravery in Wallaria?" said Grigosie at last.

"How is it that no great distinction has come to you?" Stefan turned

toward him and shut one eye.

"Dodge the distinctions, lad, as you would the devil. They lead to

Court and the society of women, two things to be avoided."

"Why so, Stefan?"

"Court fetters a man as a chain does a dog, and is unnatural, while

a woman is the keenest weapon in all the devil's armory."

"I have heard some well spoken of," said Grigosie.

"And they are the most dangerous," said Stefan. "Why do you suppose

women were made pretty and fashioned to wear pretty clothes?"

"Indeed I cannot tell."

"To conceal their natural defects, lad. Whenever you see a pretty

woman, look at the next harridan you meet, and remember that the

difference between them is only on the surface."

"You are too hard, Stefan," said Grigosie, laughing heartily.

"Wisdom, youngster--the ripe wisdom of experience."

"I wonder whether the Captain is of your way of thinking, Stefan."

"I have seen him pause in the midst of his drink sometimes, which has

made me anxious."

"The fetters of the Court, perhaps," said Grigosie.

"Seemed to me it was more like a woman," was the answer.

That night they encamped between two spurs of the lower hills. Two

hours before sunset they had begun to ascend from the plain. It was

among the hills they would be looked for as soon as the object of their

mission were known; and having chosen a camping-ground which could

easily be defended against odds, Ellerey placed sentinels to prevent

any surprise. The camp-fire was pleasant to draw close to, for the

night was cold. Ellerey lay in a half-reclining position, his feet

stretched toward the blaze; and at some little distance on the opposite

side the men were sitting in a circle playing cards, Grigosie and Anton

standing beside them, looking on.

"There, boy, what did I tell you?" he heard Stefan say as he turned to

Grigosie. "A woman again plays me false, and it's the queen of hearts,

too."

The boy laughed. Evidently he and Stefan had become fast friends during

their day's ride together. It was a merry laugh, pleasant, Ellerey

thought, after the gruffer tones of the soldiers.

Presently the boy left Anton's side and threw himself down by the fire

near Ellerey.

"Are you tired, Grigosie?"

"A little. Lately I have not been used to so many hours in the saddle.

What point do we make for to-morrow?"

"The Drekner pass. Do you know it?"

"I was quite a youngster when I last crossed it," was the answer.

"There used to be a castle there, perched on the hill-side like an

eagle's eyrie."

"So many years cannot have passed since then that the castle should

have crumbled away," said Ellerey, with a smile. "I expect it is still

there."

"You do not know the pass, then?"

"No."

Grigosie lapsed into silence, and then after a while he said suddenly:

"Some day I hope to be an honored soldier like you are, Captain."

"Wish better things for yourself, Grigosie."

"Are you not honored, then?"

"Enough to be given a dangerous post."

"And to receive good reward if you succeed. The Queen will load you

with gifts--and, perhaps, greater happiness still, some other woman

will smile on you."

"You begin to think of such things over early," Ellerey answered.

"You'll have your troubles soon enough that way, no doubt."

"Already, Captain."

"So soon?"

"This is a southern country, and we begin early. Are you a woman-hater,

as Stefan is? In the back of my mind there is a reverence for women."

"Keep it, lad, if you can; it may bring you to much good. For my part,

I hardly know my position in the matter."

"Would telling the tale to me help your judgment?" inquired the lad.

"A man does not speak of such things often, Grigosie."

"Ah, your love tale has advanced some way, then. It was not a glance

and a passing word, and a thorn left in the heart to hurt terribly at

times. That was my case."

"There is a woman I deeply respect and honor," said Ellerey. "To love

her would be much to my advantage."

"Why not, then?" asked the boy.

"Because of a memory, the memory of another woman. With her it was a

passing word and a look; but they came to me when life was at its

darkness, and I have never forgotten them. It was an early morning in

England, a morning that has no equal in the whole world, full of

sunshine and breeze and perfume; and she came into it suddenly and

unexpectedly. She would not choose to remember me if she thought such

a memory lingered in my heart. She was out of my reach even then, and

in those days I was something more than a Captain of Horse."

"But after this enterprise you will be something more."

"I cannot become a Prince, Grigosie, and my lady of the breezy morning

was a Princess."

"Really, or is that your fanciful name for her?"

"Really a Princess," Ellerey answered. "I wonder why I should be telling

this story to you?"

"Is there not sympathy between all who love?" Grigosie answered. "It

is the one common bond there is in the world, knowing no difference

of creed or nationality."

For two days the little band journeyed in the mountains, keeping to

the lower track on account of the horses. Progress was slow, for the

going was rough, and the horses often had to be led. The track lay

between the lower hills and the main mountain range, and they had lost

sight of the open country, which lay below them. It was late in the

afternoon of the second day that they crossed a spur which jutted out

toward the plain, and from its vantage ground Grigosie was the first

to point out the head of the pass, a precipitous opening in the

mountains to their left. At the same time Stefan, looking across the

open country, pointed out a cloud of dust on the horizon.

"That means a moving body of men," he said.

"In the pass lies our greatest security until we are prepared to meet

the enemy," Ellerey answered. "If that castle of yours has not crumbled

to dust, Grigosie, it will make excellent quarters for us."

The Drekner pass had long ago ceased to be used. Once, doubtless, it

was the highway into Wallaria from the north, but that was long ago,

not within the memory of the oldest man. Nature herself had closed the

way by casting a great spur of the mountain into the deepest and

narrowest part of the defile. It was still possible to climb this, but

it had effectually closed the pass for all useful purposes; and the

castle, which in old times had been used to guard the way, had fallen

into decay. It stood gaunt against the hillside upon a natural plateau,

the pathway to it, long and zig-zag, cut out in the hillside. Vegetation

had taken root in the crevices of its broken walls, and some of the

stonework, shivered by the lightning stroke perhaps, lay in the roadway

at the foot of the hill. Silence reigned, and an eagle hovering on the

heights above doubtless had his eyrie there. A thin stream of water

trickled down the hillside, finding its way from the snow on the

mountains, which reared white-hooded heads here and there above their

humbler brethren.

"My castle in the hills!" cried Grigosie enthusiastically as a turn

of the track brought it in view.

"Peace, Grigosie, and take that child's chatter of yours to the rear,"

said Ellerey. Then turning to Stefan, he directed him and another of

the men to climb up carefully to the plateau. "Some outpost of

Vasilici's may hold it," he remarked.

Leaving their horses, Stefan and his companion went up the zig-zag way

and were lost to view. It seemed a long time before their figures stood

on the edge of the plateau and waved to their comrades to ascend.

"My castle, Anton," whispered Grigosie. "It was I who told them that

it stood here."

"They liked not your claiming it so."

"They will forgive much to my youth, even if I am put to cooking and

bedmaking to-night as punishment," laughed the boy. "You shall be snug,

Anton, and know that the gods are with us."

The incline of the zig-zag way had been carefully graduated so that

it was possible to lead horses up, and they all dismounted and went

singly. At the top of the path a stone gateway, broken and of small

service now, shut in the plateau. This was the only means of reaching

the castle, and in old times formed the first point of defence. "Empty,

but an airy perch to spend the night," said Stefan, meeting them at

the gateway. "Here's a trysting place for every wind that blows, and

holes enough for them to whistle through."

This was evident. The walls were broken in every direction, and heaps

of stonework lay scattered on all sides.

"The tower yonder seems to have held together," said Ellerey.

"Aye, there's fine sleeping room there, and you may see the stars

through the roof."

But the tower had much to commend it. The door that closed it still

hung upon its hinges, and in the lower chamber, at least, there were

no rents in the wall save the window holes, narrow slits in the outside,

but widening inward through the thickness of the walls. On one side

stone steps, unprotected in any way, led to the floor above, which was

entered through a trap door still in place and capable of being bolted

down. Here the walls were broken in places, and part of the roof had

fallen. More steps, which mounted to the roof, ended abruptly and were

open to the sky. A turret had been displaced at some time and had

crashed through, breaking part of the stairs away.

"We can make shift to stable the horses between some of the walls

outside, and ourselves in the tower," said Ellerey. "It might be worse,

Stefan, and with fortune our stay will be short."

"It must be if we're to live. There is no food for a siege," Stefan

answered.

Meanwhile the men had unsaddled, and a fire was already crackling on

the old hearth. There was promise of comfort for the night, and they

were not disposed to grumble. While some looked to the horses, others

made haste to prepare a meal. A kid caught earlier in the day suggested

a feast. Others, finding a broken door, made shift to set it on four

stones, improvising a table, on which they set out the wine flasks and

the food they carried with them, while one man paced up and down the

edge of the plateau watching the mountains opposite and the pass

beneath.

Kid's flesh, even when roasted over a wood fire, may not be to the

taste of all who can choose their viands, but it is honest food for

all that, and no one round that improvised table uttered a word against

it. More logs had been piled on the fire, and the blaze threw dancing

shadows on the stone walls and lit up the rough faces of the men. They

were silent for a while, their sharp set appetites fully occupying

them, but a draught of wine set the tongues wagging again.

"A song, Stefan: I've heard you roar a good stave ere this."

"Not a love song, surely?" said Grigosie.

"No, of wine."

"In all the verse I ever heard love and wine strangely go together,"

said the boy.

"Proving that the joys of both are transitory, perhaps," said Ellerey,

who sat beside him. He spoke only to Grigosie, but Stefan heard him.

"Love, Captain--a snap of the fingers for love; but wine's the very

heart of life. There's wisdom and truth in wine, there's valor in it,

and it's powerful enough to make even good sound men fall in love.

There's a stave I've heard which you may have if you will." And with

much sound but little music Stefan broke into song.

It was a tavern ditty, and not too nice in its sentiments, as, indeed,

why should it be, to please its hearers? There was a lilt in its chorus

which even Stefan's unmusical voice could not hide, and it set the

men's heads nodding in time as they roared it out together, waking the

echoes with the declaration that--"The eye of a maid may sparkle, And

the fools may for love repine, But the wise man knows As his road he

goes That the best of life's gifts is wine."

"That isn't true, is it, Captain?" whispered Grigosie. "We know better

than that."

Ellerey laughed, but he was not displeased to keep the lad in low

conversation. The song had let loose a flood of jest and anecdote which

lost none of their ribaldry in the telling. They were ill suited for

a boy to hear and batten on.

"Yes, lad; we know better, you and I," he said. "Let them talk, we

need not listen."

"I suppose it is natural in youth to shudder at some things they talk

of, and much I do not understand."

"Keeping such ignorance you will be the happier. And do not drink much

wine to-night, Grigosie; you must take your turn at sentry duty. It

is share and share alike in an enterprise like this."

"Grant, then, there be stars to-night. I never feel lonely under the

stars," the lad answered. "It was good wine that was poured into my

flask at starting; I have hardly tasted it until now. Is yours good?"

"It might be worse, and I was never a heavy drinker."

"Taste mine."

"No, lad; why should I rob you?"

"Indeed, it will be no robbery. If you do not take it I shall offer

it to Stefan presently. It is too strong for me."

"I'll taste it before I sleep, if you will. The air is close here. Let

us go and fill our lungs with mountain breezes."

The boy sprang to his feet at once, careful to take his wine flask

with him, and followed Ellerey on to the plateau.

There were stars in the clear sky, and a crescent moon that seemed to

be poised on a sharp edge of the higher mountains. The air was keen,

tingling in throat and nostrils.

"...the wise man knows As his road he goes That the best of life's

gifts is wine," came again the lilting chorus from the tower. It was

the only sound that disturbed the silence--the silence of a world.

"A night for regrets, Captain, yet one to speed ambition," said

Grigosie.

"Yours has been too short to accumulate regrets."

"They get heaped together very rapidly sometimes," was the reply. "How

long shall we stay here?"

"Only until we have seen Vasilici and delivered our message."

"And then back to Sturatzberg with our demands backed by an army of

patriots," said Grigosie. "And for the success of the scheme--how do

you reckon the chances?"

"If I expected failure I should not be here."

"Your own ambition supplies the motive, then? There is no love for a

cause behind?"

"Hush, lad; those are dangerous questions to ask a soldier. If I know

that reward awaits success, it is as certain that failure means death.

Those who employ my sword would not hesitate to sacrifice me to save

the situation; so you see, Grigosie, you set out on a venture some

enterprise when you joined my company."

"Yes, we may fail and die, and yet other nights will be just as full

of stars as this is. I wonder how it is that such a beautiful world

is cursed to go so awry."

"Chiefly, my lad, because most of us care nothing about the beauty,

but think only of using it as a plaything. Let us go in again. You

should sleep before you go on duty." Some of the men had already

stretched themselves cut in sleep, and there was weariness in the slow

speech of the others. Only Anton seemed really awake, and he did not

speak as the two entered the tower.

"Here is the wine," Grigosie whispered, handing the flask to Ellerey.

"Drink to success in it, to success in war--and love."

CHAPTER XIV

THE TOKEN IS DELIVERED

The logs burnt low upon the hearth, and only a feeble light was in the

tower. Anton saw Ellerey drink the wine and then cast himself down not

far from Grigosie; but it was too dim for him to see whether all his

companions were asleep. Some certainly were, for they snored, and

others were restless, for they shifted their positions at intervals

and sighed heavily. Where Ellerey and Grigosie were there was deep

shadow, growing deeper as the fire died down. One sleeper there was

restless for a little while, and then his breathing proclaimed that

his sleep was heavy. Once Anton thought there was a darker shadow

within the shadow, which moved quite silently, but he did not speak;

he only listened very eagerly and raised himself on his elbow a little.

Presently Anton slept too.

Ellerey awoke with a start. Some shock in a dream seemed to wake him,

and as he raised himself his hand went to his breast, as it constantly

did on waking. The token lay there safely. Then he leaned over toward

Grigosie and stretched out his arm. The lad's place was empty. He was

startled for a moment, as men may be on awaking suddenly from a dream,

but he quickly recovered himself, remembering that the lad was sentry

part of the night.

He lay down again, being heavy-eyed, but could not sleep. The air was

oppressive, and a dull pain was in his head as though a steel band

were clasped tightly round his forehead. The dream was still surging

unpleasantly through his brain, and at last his restlessness prompted

him to go out on to the plateau.

The stars were still bright, but the crescent moon had gone. At the

edge of the plateau, resting upon his gun, stood the motionless figure

of the sentry. Ellerey did not wish to startle him, so coughed slightly

to let him know of his presence.

The boy did not turn.

"Grigosie."

"Is that you, Captain? I was just coming to call you. Watch the mountain

opposite, and tell me if my eyes are deceiving me. There is nothing

for the moment, but wait, and look steadily."

The top of the opposite side of the pass stood out clearly against the

sky, but below was darkness. Grigosie pointed to that part which lay

rather below the level of the plateau on which they were standing.

"They must be good eyes to see anything there," said Ellerey.

"Wait," whispered the boy.

Even as he spoke there shone for a moment a wisp of light like a firefly

in the darkness, and then another, moving a little below it. Several

times this was repeated in different places in the darkness, the point

of light gleaming for a moment only and then suddenly going out.

"They have followed us, Captain, and by morning will have climbed high

enough to command this position."

"When did you first see the lights, Grigosie?"

"Not ten minutes ago."

"Get to the gate at the top of the zig-zag pass--quickly! I will call

the others."

The boy ran to his post at once, and in a few moments the whole of the

little company was upon the plateau watching the points of light which

came and went on the mountain opposite. There was no more sleep that

night, only a waiting for dawn; and as daylight crept slowly down them,

the mountains looked innocent enough. The sunlight bursting suddenly

over the eastern ridges glinted upon no points of steel betraying

hidden men in the hollows of the hills. Ellerey and Stefan stood

together looking for such a sign, or the thin curl of smoke from a

camp-fire.

"There's no army from Sturatzberg yonder, Captain," said the soldier.

"Whoever climbed there last night showed lights only to guide their

fellows, either not expecting us to see them, or not knowing that we

are here."

"The brigands, perhaps," said Ellerey.

"The same thought was in my mind," Stefan answered.

Sharp eyes watched from the plateau during the early hours of the

morning. Weapons were looked to, and the horses saddled ready for any

emergency; but no attempt was made to conceal their presence there.

Sharp eyes doubtless had also watched their movements from the mountains

opposite, for three men presently appeared in the pass below. By what

path they came there the watchers on the plateau could not tell. No

sign of them had they perceived until they suddenly stood in full view.

"To travel in such fashion those must be born mountaineers," said

Stefan. "Shall I signal to them, Captain?"

"Yes. Let them come up the path; we will meet them at the top. Grigosie,

you stand on the rising ground there, and if there be any sign of

treachery see you repeat the marksmanship you boast of."

The three men came up the zig-zag path fearlessly. They did not pause

when they saw the soldiers waiting for them at the ruined gateway, but

came on until they halted some five paces in front of them.

"We are sent to know your mission in the hills," said one, stepping

slightly in advance of his companions.

"From whom do you come?" inquired Ellerey.

"From a friend, if we make no mistake, one whom you are sent to seek

near the Drekner pass. Are you from Queen Elena?"

"I am the bearer of a message to Vasilici."

"You are welcome, then. We will bring you to him."

"Is he far from here?"

The man turned and pointed up the pass: "An hour's journey."

"We will come. The message I carry will need prompt action, for across

the plain there are troops watching the road to Sturatzberg."

"There are more ways than one to the capital, and many men in those

troops perchance who will welcome the sight of us."

"I do not doubt it," Ellerey answered. "Is the way passable for horses?

We shall not want to return here."

"Yes, to the entrance of the chief's resting-place. How many are you?"

"Ten in all."

"Your numbers guarantee a friendly message," was the smiling answer.

"We will await you at the foot of the path."

As the men departed Grigosie lowered the rifle which he had held ready

for use, his finger resting lightly on the trigger; but he did not

move from his post until Ellerey called him.

"Ready, lad; we march at once."

"You are satisfied with the embassy?"

"Quite. In an hour's time the first stage of our mission will be

accomplished."

"And then?"

"The result lies on the knees of the gods," said Ellerey.

"Do we all go?" asked the boy. "Yes."

"And leave none to keep this refuge?"

"What should we want with a refuge? We have come too far for that. If

success does not lie in the road before us, the only refuge we can

hope for is in death."

"I have a strange liking for life, Captain, just now."

The men led their horses down the zig-zag path, Ellerey and Stefan

bringing up the rear. Grigosie turned to look back at the ruined walls,

and the tower standing gaunt against the mountain-side. He had

enthusiastically called it his, and in the desertion of it there may

have been some regret. From the castle the lad's eyes followed the

shape and direction of the ridges which lay about it, as though to

impress the picture on his mind, but he spoke no word, and studiously

avoided Anton's eyes, which questioned him. He was in no mood to reduce

the thoughts which surged through his brain to any order. They raged

and beat against the unknown shores of the future as a wind-swept ocean

will against a rocky coast, carrying with them his hopes and ambitions,

which were driven to and fro like brave craft struggling against

shipwreck. There was some reason why he should regret the comparatively

quiet haven of that castle in the hills.

In silence he mounted with the others at the foot of the path, and the

little band of horsemen proceeded at walking pace, so that the envoys

from Vasilici, who were on foot, might keep up with them. Ellerey and

Stefan rode side by side, and at a sign from the former fell a few

paces farther in the rear.

"It is evident that we shall presently have to leave the horses, Stefan;

you and Anton shall stay with them while the rest of us go forward to

deliver the token. While you wait keep a keen lookout on the hillsides

and on--"

"On Anton," Stefan suggested. "I need no bidding, Captain. I do not

trust him. I should trust him still less had I not taken a liking to

his companion, Grigosie."

"The boy is stanch, I think, but it is perhaps as well to have them

separated," said Ellerey; "that is why I leave Anton to you."

"He'll be in strict company, Captain, have no fear."

"I see no reason to doubt success," said Ellerey, after a pause, almost

as if he had misgivings and wanted to be laughed out of them.

"There are many who have looked upon success, and yet have not had arm

long enough to grasp it," said Stefan. "It's as well not to smack the

lips until the liquor is running in the throat."

Their way lay up the pass toward the narrow defile which nature had

closed long ago. There was an upward incline, but it was quite easy

for the horses. The pass gradually narrowed as they went, and the

mountain-sides grew more precipitous, shutting them in like great walls

on either side. Little foothold was there for a lurking enemy, and

there were no deep gorges where an ambuscade might hide. To defend

this part of the pass in the old days must have meant a hand-to-hand

struggle in the narrow way. Ellerey noted this as he went. His life

in Sturatzberg had made him observant.

Presently the leading horseman stopped.

"It is difficult work for horses from here," said one of the brigands.

"They can be fetched afterward to the place the chief directs."

"You, Stefan and Anton, will stay with them," said Ellerey. "I will send

Grigosie back with orders presently. Take orders from none but

Grigosie."

Stefan saluted and gathered the bridles together, smiling to see that

Anton was not pleased at being left behind He looked at his youthful

comrade, who took no notice of him, and obeyed with an ill grace.

"Why should he leave us?" he asked, when the others had gone, climbing

the slope in front of them.

"Why not?" asked Stefan laconically.

"It is the business of servants and lackeys to mind horses."

"But we have neither."

"At least we are given no honorable service."

"For my part, I do as I am told," said Stefan, "and you'll be wise to

do the same. That young comrade of yours is capable of looking after

himself."

Anton looked at the soldier curiously for a moment, but Stefan's

thoughts were always difficult to read. His face never showed a sign

of any meaning beyond the words he uttered.

Following the three brigands, the others climbed up the slope of the

landslip which had filled up the pass. It was uneven ground, and they

were soon hidden from their companions with the horses. Descending

presently into a ravine, the brigands stopped.

"As a careful Captain, you will appreciate the caution of our chief,"

said the spokesman, turning to Ellerey. "We were ordered to bring you

no farther than this. He will come to you here."

"We are only eight; let him come with no larger following," Ellerey

answered. "There shall be precaution on both sides."

"I will give your message, but--"

"Unless he fulfils my terms I depart the way I have come, and make my

terms in the shadow of the castle yonder."

"I will tell him so," said the man, and the brigands went quickly up

the ravine and disappeared.

"This is their vantage ground," said Ellerey. "Stand apart, all of

you, near enough to help each other, but not in each other's way should

a rush come. Grigosie, stand there, carelessly as it were, but with

ready fingers. We have no knowledge of the honor of these men."

They had not long to wait. From the bend in the ravine came three men,

the central figure a man of great stature. He walked proudly, with

long, swaggering strides and swinging arms. His long black hair, bearded

chin, and beady eyes set under heavy eyebrows, gave a ferocity to his

appearance which Ellerey did not find attractive. He looked like a man

in whom the barbarian was still active, whose laws of right and wrong

and honor were likely to be of his own fashioning--one in whom it

would be dangerous to trust too implicitly. Yet he was a striking and

a handsome figure, and his dress gave him distinction. A scarlet feather

was in his hat, and he wore a scarlet cloak which the weather had

stained. A heavy knife was stuck in his belt, and it was obvious that

his companions treated him with marked respect.

"Is this bravado, or does he know that a hundred pairs of eyes are

watching us?" said Ellerey.

Grigosie did not take his eyes from the three men. He stood in a

careless attitude, one hand resting on his hip, the other thrust into

his breast, and his fingers were upon a revolver. No gesture of the

men escaped him, and long before they came to a standstill in front

of Ellerey he had learned their features thoroughly.

The big man gave a short salute rather as acknowledging an inferior

than answering an equal.

"You have a message for me, Captain."

"I can answer that question when I know who you are," said Ellerey.

The big man laughed, with a glance at his companions, who laughed too,

pleased to humor him. "You are a stranger in these hills, or you would

know me. I am Vasilici."

He did not call himself great, but his manner easily filled the

omission. He glanced at Ellerey, and at the soldiers, to see the effect

of his words.

"Then I have a message for you from Queen Elena."

"It has been so long in coming that I have almost grown tired of

waiting," Vasilici answered. "I presume she would have done without

my help if she could."

"I am only the bearer of one message," Ellerey said shortly. The

fellow's insolent manner came near to raising Ellerey's temper. This was

a dangerous ally the Queen had chosen. "Do you know the nature of the

message I bring?"

"Aye, as I know the price to be paid for my help. The Queen has not

dared to question my terms, has she?"

"I know nothing of the price. I might find it too high if I did."

"Nor were you sent to argue, Captain, but to deliver the token," said

Vasilici, holding out his hand.

Ellerey swallowed his rages a best he could, with a determination to

take the pride out of this boaster some day; and drawing out the sealed

box containing the bracelet of medallions, handed it to the brigand.

"At last the great day dawns for me and for Wallaria!" Vasilici

exclaimed. "The kingdom of the hills comes to power and honor."

"Did they tell you that an army lies in wait between here and

Sturatzberg?" asked Ellerey.

"Fifty armies will not stop me and those I lead when I elect to strike,"

cried the brigand, snapping his fingers. "The puppets in Sturatzberg

will either bow to me or squeal at their punishment when I enter the

city."

"You'll find the gates shut and some good men to guard them," Ellerey

answered. "I am in a position to know that."

"We may use you, Captain, and for good service there is something more

than thanks."

Ellerey laughed loudly; it was the only way he could prevent himself

from cursing this insolent scoundrel. He almost despised himself for

being even in the same cause with this swaggerer. For a moment Grigosie

glanced at him, understanding something of what was in his mind, but

the next instant he had turned again to watch Vasilici. The man was

a swaggerer through and through, although if the tales told of him

were true he did not lack courage. He had for a long time impressed

his followers with his bluster and attitudes, playing a carefully

studied part before them, appealing to that vein of romance which life

in the mountains had fostered in them; and he played the part now for

the benefit of Ellerey and his comrades. Falling into a pose, he turned

the box this way and that, as though the opening of it were a supreme

thing which a little delay would materially add to. Then with a

flourish he drew the knife from his belt and broke the seals, pausing

again to carefully replace the knife.

"Freedom to this wretched land at last," he said, "and so I open the

Queen's token."

The box fell to the ground with the packing it had contained, and then

with an oath Vasilici drew himself to his full height, one hand upon

the haft of his knife in a moment.

"Is this how her Majesty attempts to fool me!" he cried.

Ellerey took a step forward to look, and an oath burst from his lips,

too. It was not the iron bracelet of medallions which Vasilici held

up, but a cross of gold, curious in shape and workmanship, upon which

the sun glinted as it swung by its little chain in the brigand's hand.

CHAPTER XV

THE RACE FOR LIFE

The action a man will take in a crisis is exceedingly difficult to

gauge beforehand. As a rule, such moments happen from a chain of

circumstances which the man has not foreseen, and therefore has made

no preparation to meet, and his conduct is likely to be guided entirely

by the attitude of those about him, without any question of right or

wrong, without a thought of what has occurred in the past or what may

happen in the future. This was Ellerey's position. He had expected to

see the bracelet of medallions; instead he saw a golden cross. He knew

that in some manner he had been deceived, and who but the Queen could

have placed this unexpected token in his keeping? By his manner he

knew that the golden cross held some meaning for the brigand, a meaning

of which Ellerey was absolutely ignorant; and under other conditions

he might have admitted his ignorance and entered into explanations.

As it was, the whole bearing of Vasilici, his bluster and his swagger,

had roused Ellerey's anger. He had felt that the man was a crafty enemy

even at the moment of delivering what he supposed to be a friendly

message, and the keen desire to show his contempt for him had made his

tongue smart with unspoken words, and his hands tingle to be clenched

and to strike. He had forced himself to decent speech and attitude,

but now his anger asserted itself. No question of duty or expediency

seemed to bind him; only a boastful enemy was before him to be answered

in the same fashion as he questioned, and if that did not suffice, to

be punished as he merited.

"That is the token as I received it," said Ellerey.

As the brigand had held up the token Grigosie had leant forward to see

it, the color mounting into his cheeks. Now his enthusiasm appeared

to get the better of his prudence, and he cried out:

"Long live our country! Down with all who dishonor her! The golden

cross gleams in the light of God's good sun; it is a benediction on

this day, a promise of brighter days to follow. Summon your legions,

Vasilici, and on to Sturatzberg where the hornets are nesting ready

for destruction."

The brigand glanced at the boy contemptuously.

"What bantam is this you have brought to crow for you?"

"The boy speaks well enough," said Ellerey. "There is the token, where

is your answer?"

"Here, and here," was the quick answer, as he hurled the cross high

into the air behind him, and at the same time blew a shrill whistle.

"That is Vasilici's answer to liars, and this his swift punishment."

The man's movements were so lithe and quick, so utterly unexpected,

that he had sprung upon Ellerey before the words had fully left his

lips. The long blade of his knife caught the sunlight, even as the

golden cross had caught it a moment ago, and Ellerey's upraised arm

alone protected his breast from the downward thrust. But the swift

stroke did not come. A revolver shot awoke the echoes of the hills,

and with a howl the great brigand leapt backward, his knife falling

harmlessly to the ground, and his arm useless to his side.

"The bantam's answer," cried Grigosie. "To me, Captain!" It was at

once evident that Vasilici had not ventured to the interview without

support. The hills in front of them were immediately alive with men

scrambling downward to the very ground the little band occupied. Men

were in the ravine behind them rushing up to cut off retreat that way.

Cries and shouting were on every side, some calling for surrender,

others shouting that the soldiers had been deceived by their Captain.

In the sudden confusion Ellerey gave quick commands, as, with sword

in hand, he sprang to the rising ground where Grigosie stood; but his

orders were either not heard or came too late for obedience. Before

the soldiers could come to him, the brigands were between them.

"It is madness to stay," whispered Grigosie. "The hill behind us is

clear." The boy fired twice in quick succession at men who had raised

their rifles ready to fire at them, and although in answer a dozen

bullets sang past them, the aim was faulty in the excitement.

"Shoot them both!" was the shout.

"Shoot them!" thundered Vasilici.

"Come," whispered Grigosie.

They scrambled upward together, the unevenness of the hillside

protecting them for a moment from the flying bullets.

"I marked our direction," said Grigosie. "We can keep to this kind

path for a little way, and with luck cross the open presently toward

the horses."

They ran on, crouching lest their heads should be seen and mark the

direction they had taken. Grigosie refilled the empty chambers of his

revolver as he went, and Ellerey put up his sword and took his revolver

instead. Behind them the firing had ceased, but they could not doubt

that they were being swiftly followed; and spread over the open which

they must needs cross, a hundred men probably barred their way.

"Unless they were already there when we passed, they will hardly have

time to intercept us," was Grigosie's answer to this fear.

"Probably they were there, lad," said Ellerey. "We've about an equal

chance with the hare that is being coursed."

"He gets away sometimes," was the answer.

They ran swiftly, mounting higher and higher as they went. Once they

caught sight of men running in the path below them, and presently of

others climbing the hillside to reach the summit before them, but no

shout told them that they themselves had been seen.

"Don't fire, Grigosie, unless it is absolutely necessary," said Ellerey.

"It would betray our whereabouts, and we shall want all our cartridges

to stop them across the open."

The boy nodded and ran on.

"The top at last!" he exclaimed. "That height yonder is our mark. If

we can reach it we shall be in sight of the horses. How far behind

have we left them?"

He stood for a moment to look back along the ridge under which they had

come. Some distance away men were coming into view.

"Quick, Grigosie; it's speed now," said Ellerey.

The way before them was clear, and they ran side by side, careful of

their steps lest a hole might mean a fall and a sprained ankle.

Presently a bullet passed between them, and they began to run in zig-zag

fashion to puzzle the marksmanship. Ellerey constantly turned to look

back. There were many pursuers, some widely straggling, but a few of

them were gaining rapidly. These did not pause to fire; they ran,

judging their pace and distance to a nicety. Long before the point for

which the fugitives were making could be reached these men would be

upon them.

"We must stop them, Grigosie."

The lad looked back. He was beginning to pant heavily.

"Not yet," he said; "they are not close enough."

So they ran on. It was evident to Ellerey that the boy's pace was

palpably slackening, and there was yet some distance to cover to the

height, to say nothing of the final dash for the horses. The men behind

were rapidly overtaking them. Ellerey could hear the dull, rhythmic

pad of the running feet.

"Twelve paces, Grigosie," he murmured, "then turn sharply. Do not kill,

lame them; their companions may stop to help them."

Ellerey counted the twelve paces aloud, and then they both turned. Four

shots rang out sharply, and three of the foremost runners stumbled and

fell. An answering bullet cut through Ellerey's coat sleeve, and there

was the pain as of a hot skewer laid for a moment on his flesh as he and

Grigosie ran on again.

"Every step lessens the distance, lad," he said encouragingly. "That

will teach them to keep a little farther in the rear."

Still Ellerey turned constantly to watch their pursuers. One or two

had stopped by their wounded companions, but the rest held on their

way, undeterred by the fate of their comrades. Twice again did Ellerey

count twelve paces, and he and Grigosie turned together and fired. The

foremost runner on the last occasion was Grigosie's mark, and he missed

him. The man had bounded forward to make his capture when Ellerey's

revolver sounded again. It was not the moment to hazard a shot, to aim

at the swiftly moving limbs. The man leapt into the air and fell

sprawling on his face, and with one spasmodic kick lay still. Grigosie

turned and ran on again without a word. They were close to the height

now. It was to their left, and the boy pointed to a depression which

lay between it and another elevation. The way was narrow, which was

in their favor, and if only the brigands were not in force on the other

side, and Grigosie had made no mistake in the direction, there was a

chance of escape.

Ellerey let Grigosie enter the narrow way first, and then paused in

the entrance. Only two men followed them, and seeing Ellerey stop,

they fired. Ellerey fired twice in answer, and without waiting to see

if the shots had taken effect dashed after Grigosie.

The boy had made no mistake. They had come out half-way down the rising

ground which they had climbed directly after dismounting. Below them

stood Stefan and Anton with the horses, and higher up the slope above

them more of the brigands were hastily descending. Some of the men had

gone this way to cut off their retreat, and the fugitives had not a

moment to waste in their final dash for freedom.

Ellerey fired into the air to put Stefan on the alert, and seizing

Grigosie's arm--for the boy was nearly beaten--he dashed down the steep

incline. Stefan saw them and spoke quickly to Anton, who for a moment

seemed inclined to lose his head. The soldier's sharp command steadied

him, and the moment Grigosie was beside him he lifted him bodily into

the saddle and then sprang to his own.

"No others?" Stefan shouted, wheeling Ellerey's horse round toward him.

"No."

Without a word Stefan cast loose the reins of the other horses, and

the next instant the four riders were galloping for dear life up the

pass, Ellerey and Grigosie in the centre, Anton and Stefan on either

side. Knee to knee they galloped, their bodies low upon their horses'

necks. Several shots followed them, but went wide of the mark, and a

bend in the pass soon covered them. Still they held on their way,

speaking no word. There was only the sound of the rapidly beating hoofs

and the rough purring of the leather as the legs rubbed the saddles.

Ellerey thought that along the pass any surprise or ambush was

impossible. He had taken careful notice of the mountain walls which

shut them in, but he was not so satisfied that they would find the

castle open to them. Those who occupied it, if any were there, could

hardly have heard of the failure of the meeting yet, and he therefore

hoped that he might gain possession of it by stratagem. To ride out

of the pass would be madness, with the armies from Sturatzberg guarding

the plain. The castle was their only hope--their place of refuge, as

Grigosie had prophetically called it.

Ellerey drew rein presently.

"We have distanced them," he said. "What do you think, Stefan--will

the castle be empty?"

The soldier shrugged his shoulders.

"If any brigands still occupy the hills about it, they cannot know

that our mission has failed."

"These fellows manage to signal very quickly to one another," Stefan

answered.

"Then we must fight for its possession. It is our only chance."

"Our chance is a poor one if it comes to fighting," said Stefan.

"We will try strategy first," Ellerey said. "Let us ride easily."

"What happened?" queried Stefan.

"The box did not contain the right token, and they attacked us without

a word of warning."

"What of the others?"

"Heaven knows. They hardly seemed to strike a blow after we were

surrounded. It was Grigosie who thought of the way across the hills,

and we've had to run for it like hunted rabbits, eh, lad?"

Grigosie smiled faintly, but did not speak. He was still panting after

his tremendous exertion. Anton had stretched out a hand to support him

in his saddle as they galloped.

"They are dead then, those others?" said Stefan.

"I fear so."

"And we've been deceived, sent into a trap like a lot of rats. There's

a reckoning to be paid."

"Time enough to think of that, Stefan. Let us secure the castle first,"

said Ellerey.

"I'm fearing the reckoning must be left for others to pay," growled the

soldier. "It's putting our trust in a woman that's been the curse of

us."

No one contradicted him, and they rode on in silence until the castle

came in view. It looked gaunt enough, as silent and deserted as when

they had first seen it. There was no movement on the plateau, no sign

that any living creature except themselves was near it.

"Look!" exclaimed Stefan suddenly.

He pointed to the hillside on which the lights had shone mysteriously

last night. Here and there were moving figures descending the slopes.

Whether they had caught sight of the riders and jumped to the conclusion

that something was wrong, or whether they had learnt of the escape

from signals across the hills, it was impossible to say. At any rate

they were descending rapidly, and there was no time to lose.

"Once in the zig-zag path the odds will be more evenly balanced," said

Ellerey. "Forward! Gallop!"

"It seems to me they are making for a point beyond the castle," said

Stefan. "They are expecting us to ride out of the pass."

"So fortune favors us," said Ellerey. "Rein up altogether at the

entrance to the path, dismount, and up to the plateau quickly."

Even as they stopped with exact precision, a loud challenge came from

the opposite hill, and, no answer being given, several shots whistled

across the pass and struck close to the entrance of the zig-zag way.

"Up with you quickly!" shouted Ellerey, who brought up the rear. "There

is little harm in such firing, and they will think twice before they

follow us."

"Careful in front, lad," Stefan called out to Grigosie, who led the

way. "Keep sharp eyes, the plateau may be occupied."

The boy nodded, but he had been looking out keenly before the soldier's

warning, leading his horse in such a manner as to cover himself as

much as possible. The precaution proved unnecessary; the castle was

empty. Stefan was right. The brigands had not expected the fugitives

to make for their old resting place, and when they saw them go up the

path they shouted as though victory were already won, nor did they

attempt to follow them. Why should they? Their foes were caught surely

as birds netted by the fowler.

"See to the horses, Grigosie," said Ellerey. "Put them as far back in

the ruins as possible. Now, Stefan, Anton, we'll heap stones across

this broken gateway at the head of the path. It shall be our first

line of defence, and if it is taken we will see to it that it is dearly

bought."

"It is not the fighting that frightens me, it's the empty condition

of the larder," said Stefan.

"Truly we are pariahs on God's earth," Ellerey answered. "Every man's

hand against us, but we'll snarl and bite awhile in our stronghold,

and then make a dash out and die in the open."

They toiled with a will all through the afternoon, heaping fragments

which had fallen from the ruins across the gateway, and driving in

stakes, rudely fashioned from any planks they could find, behind the

stonework to strengthen it. Grigosie, by Ellerey's orders, did not

assist in this work, but stood sentinel upon the plateau. The boy had

had as much as he could stand for one day.

It was growing dusk in the pass below when they had finished. Daylight

was still upon the summit of the mountains, but twilight had gathered

in the deep valleys and ravines. The brigands still hung about the

pass, watching the castle, but keeping out of range. It did not appear

that they had any intention of attacking it. As they stood together

looking down upon their enemies, Ellerey told Stefan what had happened

and the details of their escape.

"Surely those are our fellows, Captain." But there was no tone of

pleasure at the escape of his comrades; no note of welcome in the

soldier's voice.

"This looks like desertion," said Ellerey.

One of the soldiers below called out in a stentorian voice which carried

clearly in the quiet air.

"Ho there, Stefan!"

"Well, comrade?"

"We're betrayed by that devilish Englishman. Is he there with you?"

"The Captain is here. What of him?"

"Throw him down to us along with the boy," was the answer shouted back.

"He's tricked us all, and that imp of Satan has helped him. The token

he carried was not from her Majesty. He's a conspirator against the

King, and carried the golden cross. You know what that means. Throw

him down."

"It were easier for you to show your courage and come and fetch him."

"Our good friends here will do that. We have other work in hand. We

ride back to Sturatzberg to tell our story, and heaven help you if you

are alive when we return. There'll be little mercy for the companions

of that devilish Englishman. Will you come with us?"

"I'm too old to run away," shouted Stefan, "and the company of cowards

is not to my liking. May they cut your throats on the plain yonder and

ask for your story afterward."

The brigands yelled with rage, and the soldiers shouted back coarse

oaths.

"It would do my soul good to have a shot at them," said Stefan.

"Let them go," said Ellerey. "We shall want every shot we have. We are

not without friends in the capital who may hear of our need. Against

their will these fellows may help us."

The soldiers below moved on. It was evident that here they were to

part with the brigands.

"Hold them fast for punishment," cried the same stentorian voice. "We

shall return with the true message. Down with all lovers of the golden

cross! Death to them who serve Maritza! Down with Maritza!"

"What is that they shout?" said Ellerey.

The answer came loudly, borne upward on the air, as the soldiers put

their horses into a canter and rode down the pass.

"Death to the Princess Maritza!"

"You hear, Captain. Some one has fooled us all."

"Princess Maritza!" Ellerey exclaimed. "What has she to do with us?"

"Sufficient to give us a violent ending," Stefan answered.

"The golden cross is the sign of her house, her token; and you, Captain,

have been her messenger."

CHAPTER XVI

THE TRAITOR

A smile wrinkled Stefan's face, not of amusement at the deception which

had been practised upon them, but in expectation of disappointed rage

from Ellerey. With diplomacy and the fine points of strategy Stefan

the soldier had little to do. His business was fighting. It was his

livelihood, and some day, near or far in the future as fate decreed,

it would be his death. His respect for his fellows was measured by

their power of withstanding him, and the man he had the greatest

affection for, perhaps, was a soldier, now incapacitated, who had once

in a melee succeeded in knocking him from his saddle. At the same time

he believed in his own astuteness, not without some reason be it said,

and in the back of his mind there was always a certain admiration for

the man who could get the better of him. It is more than possible that

if he ever married he would thoroughly respect his wife on account of

her cleverness in having hoodwinked him into marrying her.

But the burst of anger did not come. Ellerey's eyes were fixed on the

point in the pass round which the soldiers had disappeared, and for

some minutes he did not speak.

"What is done must remain as it is," he said at last. "We have only

ourselves to consider now. We must watch two and two, one on the

plateau, one at the path. Anton and you, Stefan; Grigosie and I. It's

short rations for us and careful use of cartridges. We must understand

how our enemy is going to conduct this siege before we calculate our

chances. What ammunition have we?"

It was little enough that the four of them could display. If every

cartridge accounted for a man, small damage would be done to their

foes.

"I flung a belt of cartridges in a corner of the tower before we left,"

said Grigosie.

They all turned to look at him.

"Did you fling some food into a corner, too?" asked Stefan.

"No, but I marked that birds used the plateau in the early morning,"

Grigosie answered.

"They'll be coming in larger numbers presently, and, maybe, get a good

picking off the four of us," said Stefan. "You haven't happened upon

a fountain of wine, have you?"

"That, too, is supplied, Stefan; you can hear it leaping down the

mountain-side, and see it too," and the boy pointed to a corner of the

plateau which was within reach of the narrow stream which, from the

heights, fell with many a cascade into the pass beneath.

Stefan looked at him for a moment, and then said in disgust: "Water

and birds; fairies' fodder."

"It might be worse," said Anton.

"Wait a day or two, comrade, and you'll be crying a different tale,"

said Stefan, "although, for that matter, the food will doubtless last

our time. Had we, in our small circle here, half a dozen taverns filled

from cellar floor to garret ceiling, those fellows yonder would give

us little chance of visiting them. Keep watch here, Anton; I'll go to

the gate."

"We'll rest, Grigosie," said Ellerey.

The boy turned and entered the tower, but Ellerey did not follow him

at once. He paced in and out the ruined walls, his hands clasped behind

him, deep in thought and troubled.

Who had deceived him? It could only be the Queen, or the man who had

brought him the token, or perhaps De Froilette. Indeed, they might all

be in a conspiracy to deceive him. Yet why should the Queen desire to

deliver the token of Princess Maritza's house to the brigands? How

could it serve her ends? De Froilette's position and political aims

were less clear. Ellerey had never believed him heart whole in his

devotion to her Majesty; yet surely he would have taken the precaution

to find out how such a token would be received before sending it. He

was not the man to risk the work of years without some real hope of

success. Then Ellerey's thoughts turned to the woman who had craved

his help in the Altstrasse, the manner in which he had been searched

for the token, the masked woman who had come to look upon him, and the

warning she had given him. Baron Petrescu, too, had probably forced

the duel upon him because of the token, believing that it had been

delivered to him that night by the Queen. At his interview with her

Majesty, the token which had been decided upon was the bracelet of

medallions; it was hardly likely that it would be suddenly changed.

Somehow the bracelet had been filched from the sealed box, and the

golden cross placed there instead. Ellerey decided that the power to

effect this change lay only with the man who had brought him the token,

and on this man he fixed the blame.

Whoever was responsible for it, the scheme had failed miserably, and

it was difficult to see how success could ever have been hoped for.

On the other hand it could hardly be supposed that all those who

followed the fortunes of the golden cross were fools, acting upon

sudden impulse, courting disaster. They must have had some reason for

believing that the token would receive some consideration from the

brigands and those who had gathered to their standard. Possibly they

had themselves been deceived, even as they had attempted to deceive.

Ellerey could not doubt that Princess Maritza had a considerable

following in Sturatzberg, that the seeds of the rebellion were widely

scattered. The soldiers now riding toward the capital would spread the

news of failure, and the rebellion in self-defence might be forced to

break into open conflict at once. Even then, would Maritza's followers

give a thought to the remnant of the band who had carried the message?

If Countess Mavrodin had a voice in their councils, as surely she must

have, they might. The chance of rescue was a slender one, but a hope

did exist.

Strange to say, anger at the trick which had been played upon him did

not assert itself in any great degree, in spite of the fact that all

hope of honor and advancement was now at an end. Vasilici's attitude

had doubtless something to do with Ellerey's state of mind, personal

antagonism rising above ambition; but this would not have been the

case probably had Ellerey been forced against his will into any other

service than that of Princess Maritza. There was a charm for him in

her name, the memory of her had dwelt with him and lent a halo of

romance to his present position. He saw her again with her hair

streaming in the breeze, and felt again the subtle strength and vigor

that were in her. Had he not thought then that it would be good to

fight in her cause? Why should he rage at the circumstances which had

forced him into it?

When he entered the tower Grigosie was asleep, and he lay down to

snatch what rest he could before relieving Anton and Stefan.

When they went on duty, Grigosie watched by the path, Ellerey on the

plateau. "They will wait for Vasilici," Stefan said, when he reported

that all had been quiet so far.

Ellerey paced up and down, pausing at short intervals to listen. Not

a sound broke the deep silence. The great world seemed to lie still

and motionless under the glow of the moonlit night and the pale glimmer

of the stars. It was a time to dream of life and realized ambition,

not to ponder on lurking death and failure. He walked presently to the

head of the zig-zag path.

"Your castle has proved a refuge after all, Grigosie. How came you to

be prophetic?"

"I did not believe my own prophecy."

"Yet you hid the cartridges."

"Believing, perhaps, that they would never be wanted," Grigosie

answered. "I am full of strange thoughts and superstitions to-night,

Captain, and cannot talk."

"It is the moon and the stars, Grigosie."

"Madmen's time, when everything is distorted," answered the lad.

"And lovers' time too, Grigosie."

"Which are you, madman or lover?"

"A little of both, I think," Ellerey answered.

"And below us death is waiting," said Grigosie.

"I don't think death is coming to us this time," replied Ellerey.

The boy did not answer. Several times during those watching hours

Ellerey went to the head of the path, but Grigosie never spoke, never

turned to him. His thoughts and superstitions occupied him; and with

the light of day Ellerey noticed that there was something in his face

which was new. He had changed during the night. Something--was it his

courage?--seemed to have left him, but in its place there had come an

addition to him, to his expression, almost to his character, Ellerey

fancied. He watched the lad enter the tower, saw him cast himself

wearily into his corner, and would have followed him had not Stefan

detained him.

"I was right, Captain. Vasilici is coming. They are gathering in the

pass waiting for him."

A little later a shout proclaimed the arrival of the chief, and Ellerey

saw his huge frame in the midst of his followers. His right hand was

swathed in a handkerchief and rested in a sling, and savage ferocity

was in his face as he looked up toward the castle. His orders, and he

appeared to give many, were promptly obeyed, and he struck one man

viciously, perhaps because he dared to offer advice unasked.

It was evidence of his power among them that no one interfered, nor

did the victim himself retaliate. Men began to climb the opposite

slopes, while others massed themselves at the foot of the zig-zag pass.

"They are going to attack us at once, Captain," said Stefan. "It is

to be hot work for us to-day."

At the head of the path the little band of defenders waited.

"Every shot must tell," Ellerey whispered, "and keep well behind the

stonework, all of you."

The path was narrow with deep sides. The brigands came up it boldly

enough until the last bend in it showed them the stone-barred gateway.

Then they halted, and the foremost leaned back upon those behind who

pushed them on and shouted: "Forward!" Two men fired blindly at the

stone wall, and then rushed upon it, never to reach their goal. Only

two shots rang out, but both men threw up their arms and staggered

backward upon their companions. Not more than two abreast could come

up the narrow way, and twice again a speedy death crowned the temerity

of those who rushed to the attack. Those behind shouted to be let up

to the front, and those before made every effort to let them come. The

spirit of the brigands seemed to die out of them as their eyes fell

upon their dead companions and that silent death-dealing barricade.

Then one fellow suddenly picked up a corpse, and holding it before him

as a shield, dashed forward with a shout.

"Let him come," whispered Ellerey. "Shoot at those who follow."

The man rushed to the wall until the dead body struck the stonework.

Success for a moment seemed to be his. He had plugged one narrow slit

through which the bullets came, and he cheered his comrades on. They

came, but only to have their leader fall back into their arms. Through

the slit Ellerey had driven his sword with all his strength, piercing

the living through the dead. It had been an ugly rush, but for the

present it was the last.

"They'll try some other plan before attempting this way again," said

Stefan.

"Is there any other way?" Grigosie asked.

"For mountaineers there may be. These fellows can walk in places where

we should never venture and only expect to find flies."

From the opposite mountain a desultory fire was maintained upon the

plateau, which could only do harm if the defenders were careless. For

the rest of the day the brigands held aloof, standing or sitting in

parties in the pass and watching the castle. Vasilici strode from one

group to another, but no movement followed. There was no sleep for the

defenders that night, and at dawn, in spite of Stefan's forecast,

another attack was made upon the gate. It was as unsuccessful as the

first, nor was it made with such determination. The obedience to orders

was only half-hearted.

Later in the day it became evident that a council of war was being

held. The murmur of the men's voices reached the plateau, but no words

could be distinguished. An oath from Vasilici sounded clearly now and

again, but that was all. Some persuasion was apparently pressed upon

the chief which he jeered and laughed at, but there was a shaking of

heads when he pointed to the zig-zag way. His followers were not

inclined to try that road to victory again. They had had their surfeit

of it. Vasilici was quick-witted enough to see that he must listen to

counsel, and with lowering visage he turned first to one and then to

another as they spoke. Presently one speaker seemed to please him, for

his features relaxed into a grim smile. A movement ran through the

whole assembly, men turned to one another and nodded their satisfaction.

Some definite conclusion had been arrived at.

"They seem to have hit upon another way of getting at us," said Stefan.

"Is there another way?" asked Grigosie, repeating the same question

he had asked before. No one answered him, nor did he seem to expect

an answer. He stood watching the now moving mass below, little interest

in his eyes. His alertness had departed.

Vasilici had disappeared into some pathway at the foot of the opposite

slope, and then the crowd fell aside for one man, who, standing alone,

took off his neckcloth and waved it toward the plateau.

"A parley, Captain. Shall I answer?" said Stefan; and then, having

permission, he shouted: "Hallo!"

"I would speak with your Captain," came the answer.

"I'm a mouthpiece, comrade, same as you are. Speak on."

"I am commanded to offer you your lives and freedom on one condition."

"And the condition?" Stefan shouted, prompted by Ellerey. "You are

free to leave the pass unmolested if you will deliver up the youth who

is of your company."

"We'll see you--" Stefan began, without any prompting.

"Word it as you will," said Ellerey, "the coarser the better, perhaps,

for such a devilish suggestion."

"Wait!" exclaimed Grigosie. "Ask for time to consider."

"Who wants to consider such a thing as that?" growled Stefan.

"We gain time," said Grigosie, turning to Ellerey. "Say you will

consider the suggestion and answer them tomorrow. We sorely need rest;

what does it matter how we gain it?"

"My gorge revolts against their even fancying that we should consider

such a thing," said Stefan.

"Command him, Captain," pleaded Grigosie. "In war and love everything

is fair."

Ellerey gave way and Stefan shouted the answer.

"Until to-morrow," came the answer. "The youth once in our hands, you

are free to depart. If he is not given up to us we will have our

revenge, though half the sons of these mountains fall in the gaining

it; and the longer that revenge is delayed the fiercer shall it be

when it does come. Until to-morrow. There shall be peace between us

until then."

"But we'll keep watch by the gate for all that," growled Stefan, who

was not in the best of tempers at having to answer the brigands in

this fashion.

"There is another way, you see," said Grigosie. "I have got an answer

to my question."

"Well, lad, when you alone are in their hands, the rest of us will

have said his last prayer, or growled his last oath, whichever pleases

him best at the hour of departure."

"The question is not so easily settled, Stefan," Grigosie said. "Send

Anton to the gate, Captain, while we discuss it."

Ellerey laughed at the lad's strange mood as he entered the tower with

him. Stefan followed them and stood in the doorway.

"The question is worth consideration, though you may not think so,"

Grigosie began. "You have been deceived, Captain, and also those who

served with you."

"Enough of that, lad. It is past, and the present is our concern. If

we come out of this with our lives we may talk of punishing those who

deceived us."

"Should it not be a bitter punishment?" queried the boy.

"As bitter as the death to which they have brought us face to face,"

said Ellerey fiercely, his whole being roused for a moment at the

thought of the outrage practised upon him.

"But that revenge seems out of your power," Grigosie went on. "For you

and Stefan there is almost certain death to-morrow or a week hence, it

may be."

"It is very likely. I have looked death in the face before, and so has

Stefan there. When we look into his eyes for the last time I warrant

we shall not change color."

"Except with the heat of our final struggle," said Stefan from the

doorway.

"Your comrades have gone. You two stand alone," said Grigosie.

"With you and Anton," said Stefan.

"And we wish for no better companions," added Ellerey. "Vasilici's

knife would have written finis to my history had it not been for you,

Grigosie."

The boy colored a little with pleasure.

"Still you forget, Captain, that Anton and I were not of your choosing.

We forced ourselves into your company."

"What of it? I am glad, I--" and then the look in Grigosie's eyes

stopped Ellerey suddenly. Stefan, too, started from his leaning position

and stood upright in the entrance, looking straight at the boy.

"By your leave, I would become the hostage for your safety," said

Grigosie. "I asked you to take me with you; now I ask you to give me

up."

"Plague upon you, lad, you almost anger me. You are beyond my

understanding," was Ellerey's answer, but he still looked fixedly at

him.

"Since I have deceived you it is fitting that I should pay the penalty,"

said the boy quietly. "I would sooner meet death at their hands than

at yours. Grant me this much, and make an end of it."

"You!" exclaimed Ellerey. "You deceived me! I do not believe it."

"It is the truth. Stay, I would not have you think too ill of me. It

was not done wantonly. Those who made me believe that there was a good

chance of success misled me, but if I thought you too would reap the

benefit, it is none the less true that I deceived you. I came not from

the Queen; I came to work this very thing that has happened, the

delivery of the golden cross instead of the bracelet. I have played

my hand and lost. Mine should be a bitter punishment; you yourself

have said it. Grant me this only, that I receive it from the brigands

yonder, and not from you."

Ellerey hardly seemed to hear the boy's latter words. The sudden

confession was all his brain seemed to have the power to take in.

Stefan remained motionless, statue-like, still staring at Grigosie.

For a space there was silence in the tower. Then Ellerey turned sharply

upon the boy and laid his hand roughly on his shoulder, so roughly

that he winced a little, but showed no sign of fear.

"You lie, Grigosie, confess that you lie. The box containing the token

has never left me, night or day. As I received it from her Majesty so

it has always been, so I delivered it. Of course you are lying."

"You slept soundly, Captain, the night you drank from my wine flask."

"Was it then, you scoundrel?"

"It was then."

Deep down in every man is the instinct of the savage, the acceptance

of the law which demands an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth.

Given occasion great enough, it may rise even in the man who has all

his life studied to curb his passions, and in his judgments to be

merciful. Ellerey was of the rough and readier sort. He was a

disappointed man, one who nursed the thought of revenge against those

who had injured him. He was a soldier among soldiers who had much of

the barbarian in them. He was an adventurer among adventurers. If the

youth of this deceiver and betrayer appealed to him for a moment, the

thought was sternly crushed. If the thought of what they had come

through together came into his mind, there also came the knowledge

that he had committed the unpardonable sin. He had betrayed his

comrades.

"Heaven forgive you for making me your judge," Ellerey cried; "but

what is there except death for the traitor?" and his sword rang from

its scabbard as he spoke.

He paused a moment and looked toward Stefan.

"It's hateful, but it's just," muttered the soldier in his beard, and

he did not move from the doorway. He only lowered his head so that he

might not see.

"I admit the justice," said Grigosie; "but will you not grant my request

and deliver me to the brigands? So you shall escape."

"Escape!" cried Ellerey. "For what? Is there any truth and honor in

the world? I have not found them, and the end may come when it will.

It is an easier death you shall have from my hands than you would have

from theirs."

The sword was ready, and Stefan turned in the doorway just in time to

see Anton and to catch his uplifted arm as he attempted to rush past

him toward Ellerey. Not a word spoke the soldier, but he fiercely

twisted Anton's aim, and the knife he held rattled to the floor.

"As my fathers faced death, so can I, unflinchingly," Grigosie cried.

"Strike, Captain! God knows it was not such work as this I thought to

find for the strong arm of Desmond Ellerey."

As he spoke, he tore his shirt open at the throat to receive the blow.

His cap fell from his head, and curls, the hue of copper, slipped

loosely down upon his forehead, while the open shirt just revealed the

curve of a white bosom.

"A woman!" exclaimed Stefan, letting go of Anton in his blank

astonishment.

Slowly Ellerey's sword was lowered, and for a moment he did not speak.

Then almost in a whisper he said:

"Maritza! Princess Maritza."

CHAPTER XVII

THE TRUE WORTH OF BARON PETRESCU

There was excitement in Sturatzberg. Rumor flies fast, and the moment

it was whispered that the city gates were watched, that Captain Ellerey,

of his Majesty's Horse, was to be arrested, men began to stop and

gossip at street corners, and women to stand upon their thresholds

ready to give, or to receive, information. Strange stories grew current

in this manner, which served to keep the excitement alive until more

definite news were forthcoming. There was unwonted stir in the secret

societies and clubs, sympathy being with Ellerey, since he had in some

manner offended the Government. They did not stay to inquire what he

had done, or, indeed, to think whether his action would tend to further

any scheme of their own; it was enough that he had shown defiance to

the powers that be. Every hour fresh rumors were started and eagerly

discussed and as eagerly denied. Only two things were definite: there

was much coming and going at the palace, and Captain Ellerey was not

to be found.

Those who lead rebellion, or pull the wires of conspiracies, are seldom

open with those they lead, any more than the policy of King's Ministers

is wholly spread before the people. There were leaders in Sturatzberg

who knew many things, who shrewdly guessed at more, and their knowledge

was not reassuring.

Lord Cloverton did not expect the immediate arrest of Ellerey after

the failure to discover him at the Countess Mavrodin's. He had fully

believed that he was there, and had purposely kept the Countess driving

in the Bois until such time as the search should be accomplished. The

failure was disappointing, but his interview with the Countess would

bear fruit. Ellerey would have to move cautiously, and time was

therefore gained. The gates were closed that night, and no Captain

Ellerey had passed through them. Countess Mavrodin's house was watched,

and no one had left it. So the Ambassador met the morning with a smile;

so far his prompt action had saved the situation. A few hours were

destined to bring him surprises. First came the news of the return

of Captain Ward's cloak. The messenger who brought it was promptly

taken before the Ambassador and sharply questioned. He had received

it from Captain Ellerey himself an hour before midnight, he said.

"Why were you chosen as a messenger?" asked Lord Cloverton.

"I cannot say. I brought it because I was paid to do so."

"You seem very certain of the time. Did Captain Ellerey tell you the

hour?"

"No, sir; the clocks were striking the hour as he spoke to me."

"What is Captain Ellerey like?"

The description given seemed satisfactory until after the man had been

dismissed, and then Lord Cloverton recognized that it would fit many

men. The cloak was Captain Ward's, but there was no certainty that

Ellerey was the man who had given it to the messenger. To-day the city

was being searched; the return of the cloak went to prove that Ellerey

was still in Sturatzberg; had that been the intention in returning it?

The smile of satisfaction slowly faded from the Ambassador's face, and

he began to grow feverish for further news. Later he was with the King

when the Countess Mavrodin begged for an audience.

"She may unwittingly enlighten your Majesty," said Lord Cloverton, He

could not believe that his cleverness would not be sufficient, sooner

or later, to make the Countess betray herself, although the past was

utterly barren of result.

So Frina Mavrodin was admitted. The presence of the British Ambassador

did not disconcert her. She went to the point at once.

"Is it true, your Majesty, that my house was searched yesterday by

your instructions?" she asked.

"Countess, how can you think that?" said the King. "It is true that

I commanded the arrest of Captain Ellerey, and that command may have

been used to open your doors, as it would serve to open any door in

Sturatzberg."

"I have heard of no other house being entered by force," the Countess

answered. "Naturally, I seek to know why I am suspected."

She puzzled Lord Cloverton more than ever. This was a bold stroke to

disarm suspicion.

"My dear Countess," said the King, blandly, "would you hold me

responsible for the actions of my officers? Believe me, the city is

being searched in every corner for this rebel Captain. It is pardonable

if in the search some annoyance is given to innocent persons, is it

not? Their loyalty should overlook the offence."

"True; but your Majesty, I would humbly submit, overlooks one fact of

the gravest importance to me. That my house is searched for a rebel

is nothing; but when it is searched for a man who, at Court, has been

somewhat in my company, the action affects me curiously. It is not a

question of loyalty, but one which concerns my fair fame."

"Surely, Countess, you exaggerate."

"Indeed, your Majesty, I do not, as Lord Cloverton can prove. Only

yesterday, in the Bois, he made it evident that Court gossip linked

my name with Captain Ellerey's, and even suggested that I might

render service to my country and this Englishman at the same time

by saying all I knew. Is it not so, my lord? You were very anxious

to save your countryman and get him out of the city?"

This was more than the Ambassador had bargained for and an answer did

not come readily to his lips.

"Is it not so, my lord?" the Countess repeated. "I admit, Countess,

that, fancying there was some tender understanding between you and my

countryman, I was willing, if possible, to render you a service. I

seem to have heard that love has been accountable for strange, and

even foolish actions. This is the beginning and the end of my offence."