“Count Szalaki!”
To the men who heard Kate Strong utter that name there was nothing but
amazement in her voice, but to the sympathetic ear of Mrs. Brevoort there
was that in her friend’s outcry that was of more significance than mere
surprise.
Rudolph’s parlor presented at that instant a picturesque appearance. At
the doorway leading into the corridor stood Prince Carlo and Ned Strong,
while in the dim light behind them could be seen the grim faces of
several Rexanians. Kate Strong, her cheeks pale from the nervous strain
of recent events, but with eyes that gleamed with delight at this moment,
was seated on the sofa, facing the doorway, while Mrs. Brevoort stood by
her side, her hand resting on the girl’s shoulder.
The Rexanian prince crossed the room hurriedly, and, bending down with
infinite grace, kissed Kate’s upraised hand.
“Your brother told me you were here,” he said, and added, with convincing
simplicity, “His words made me very happy.”
Ned Strong had approached the little group.
“Mrs. Brevoort,” he said, with great solemnity, “permit me to present to
you”—here he glanced at Kate for an instant—“permit me to present to you
the Crown Prince Carlo of Rexania.”
A tinge of red appeared in the royal youth’s pale cheeks as he gracefully
acknowledged Ned’s words of introduction. Amazement, perhaps dismay,
was written on Kate Strong’s face. She was looking up at the Rexanian
questioningly.
“You are a long way from home, your royal highness,” exclaimed Mrs.
Brevoort, a mischievous gleam in her eyes. “But I am pleased to see you
again.”
“We have met before, then?” inquired the prince, a puzzled look on his
face.
“No, but I have not forgotten your face. I saw you at the head of your
troops in Rexopolis, two years ago. I did not then imagine that I should
ever meet you in such a place as this.”
“The unhappy chance that brought me here has, I assure you, its
compensation,” returned the prince, smilingly, as he turned and looked
down into the troubled face of Kate Strong.
“Sit down here by me,” said the girl, to whom conflicting emotions had
come as an antidote to physical pain. She had almost forgotten that her
sprained ankle was aching stubbornly. “I want you to tell me what has
happened to you since we last met. You owe me an apology, you know. But
wait; I had almost forgotten. Are you really the crown prince? Then, of
course, I have no right to ask for an explanation. The king can do no
wrong, I believe.”
Prince Carlo seated himself by her side, while a sad smile crossed his
pale face.
“How out of place the old ideas appear!” he exclaimed. “But, frankly, it
has been a heavy cross to me, Miss Strong, to feel that you might wonder
at my lack of courtesy. But I have been a helpless prisoner in the hands
of yonder men.”
Kate looked at him wonderingly.
“Tell me, Prince Carlo,” she said, in a low voice, “tell me, what did
they wish with you?”
Prince Carlo glanced searchingly around the room before replying. Mrs.
Brevoort and Ned Strong were standing near the doorway, talking to the
Rexanians who had appointed themselves a body-guard to their recent
prisoner.
“They would have me,” he answered gloomily, “betray my trust and leave my
country to chaos and despair.”
Her eyes sought his, but he failed to meet her gaze.
“And you—you will go back to Rexania?” she asked falteringly.
“It is imperative,” he answered, knowing that her eyes were upon his
face, but keeping his gaze fixed on the shadows that lurked in the
corners of the room. “Already it may be too late for me to undo the
damage these men have wrought. What has happened in Rexopolis I do not
know, but I dread to learn the truth.” He turned and looked down into her
face. She smiled up at him sadly.
“I am very sorry for you,” she whispered. What she meant by the words she
hardly knew. The world seemed topsy-turvy to her fevered mind. Her life,
usually so uneventful, had been filled this day with startling events,
and she was worn with physical pain and the turmoil of conflicting
emotions. She wondered vaguely that she had not been more surprised to
learn that the heir-apparent to a European throne had been a prisoner in
the house where she was born. She realized with annoyance that her mind
refused to confine itself to the bare facts presented to it, but showed
an inclination to make short journeys into the realms of dreams and
fancies.
Prince Carlo was gazing into her eyes earnestly.
“Your sympathy is very sweet to me,” he said, in a voice that was vibrant
with suppressed longing. “How much it means to me—may I tell you?”
His voice had sunk to a whisper.
“If you wish,” she murmured, her lips trembling as she spoke.
“It means,” he went on firmly, “a glimpse of a paradise I may never seek.
It means that I look at the fairest sight on earth through the bars of
an iron cage. It means that I will treasure in my heart, through all
the dark, grim years that call to me, a memory that shall be to me the
brightest gem of life. It means, Miss Strong, that I, a king, am more
blessed by those dear words you spoke than by all the tawdry glory of my
throne and crown.”
He was silent, and the girl placed a cold hand in his for an instant and
then withdrew it quickly.
“We have taken the liberty, your royal highness,” said Mrs. Brevoort
breezily, as she and Ned Strong crossed the room, “of sending one of your
attendants to New Rochelle for a carriage. It seems that Rudolph,” she
continued, glancing at Kate, “has made his escape in the vehicle that
waited outside. And now we are anxious to discover if your lodge-keeper
left anything to eat in the house. It is absolutely necessary that we
fortify ourselves in some way for the ride before us.”
The crown prince had arisen and beckoned to the towering Posnovitch, who
blocked the doorway.
“Go up to the house, man, and tell Posadowski to send us whatever he has
to eat and drink. I believe,” he continued, smiling at Mrs. Brevoort,
“that we are not in imminent danger of starving to death.”
“And may I repay your present hospitality, your royal highness,” cried
Mrs. Brevoort gayly, “by numbering you among my guests at dinner
to-morrow?”
Prince Carlo glanced furtively at the averted face of Kate Strong, as he
said, in a voice in marked contrast to the sprightly tones in which the
invitation had been extended to him:
“I am very sorry, Mrs. Brevoort, to be obliged to decline your
hospitality, but—but I shall sail for Europe early to-morrow morning.”