The tableau lasted but a moment. Gabriel advanced a few steps, his eyes gleaming with jealousy and triumph. Before him stood the petrified lovers, caught red-handed. Through her dazed brain struggled the conviction that he could never escape; through his ran the miserable realization that he had ruined her forever. Gabriel, of all men!
“I arrive inopportunely,” he said, harshly, the veins standing out on his neck and temples. “Do I intrude? I was not aware that you expected two, your highness!” There was no mistaking his meaning. He viciously sought to convey the impression that he was there by appointment, a clandestine visitor in her apartments at midnight.
“What do you mean by coming to my apartment at this hour?” she stammered, trying to rescue dignity from the chaos of emotions. Lorry was standing slightly to the right and several feet behind her. He understood the Prince, and quickly sought to interpose with the hope that he might shield her from the sting.
“She did not expect me, sir,” he said, and a menacing gleam came to his eyes. His pistol was in his hand. Gabriel saw it, but the staring Princess did not. She could not take her eyes from the face of the intruder. “Now, may I ask why you are here?”
Gabriel's wit saved him from death. He saw that he could not pursue the course he had begun, for there was murder in the American's eye. Like a fox he swerved and, with a servile promise of submission in his glance, said:
“I thought you were here, my fine fellow, and I came to satisfy myself. Now, sir, may I ask why you are here?” His fingers twitched and his eyes were glassy with the malevolence he was subduing.
“I am here as a prisoner,” said Lorry, boldly. Gabriel laughed derisively.
“And how often have you come here in this manner as a prisoner? Midnight and alone in the apartments of the Princess! The guard dismissed! A prisoner, eh? Ha, what—a prison!”
“Stop!” cried Lorry, white to the lips.
The Princess was beginning to understand.
Her eyes grew wide with horror, her figure straightened imperiously and the white in her cheeks gave way to the red of insulted virtue.
“I see it all! You have not been outside this castle since you left the prison. A pretty scheme! You could not marry him, could you, eh? He is not a prince! But you could bring him here and hide him where no one would dare to think of looking for him—in your apartments!”
With a snarl of rage Lorry sprang upon him, cutting short the sentence that would have gone through her like the keenest knife-blade.
“Liar! Dog! I'll kill you for that!” he cried, but, before he could clutch the Prince's throat, Yetive had frantically seized his arm.
“Not that!” she shrieked. “Do not kill him! There must be no murder here!”
He reluctantly hurled Gabriel from him, the Prince tottering to his knees in the effort to keep from falling. She had saved her maligner's life, but courage deserted her with the act. Helplessly she looked into the blazing eyes of her lover and faltered:
“I—I do not know what to say or do. My brain is bursting!”
“Courage, courage!” he whispered, gently.
“You shall pay for this,” shrieked Gabriel. “If you are not a prisoner you shall be. There'll be scandal enough in Graustark to-morrow to start a volcano of wrath from the royal tombs where lie her fathers. I'll see that you are a prisoner!” He started for the door, but Lorry's pistol was leveled at his head.
“If you move I'll kill you!”
“The world will understand how and why I fell by your hand and in this room. Shoot!” he cried, triumphantly. Lorry's hand trembled and his eyes filled with the tears of impotent rage. The Prince held the higher card.
A face suddenly appeared at the door, which had been stealthily opened from without. Captain Quinnox glided into the room behind the Prince and gently closed the door, unnoticed by the gloater.
“A prisoner?” sneered Gabriel. “Where is your captor, pray?”
“Here!” answered a voice at his back. The Prince wheeled and found himself looking at the stalwart form of the captain of the guard. “I am surely privileged to speak now, your Highness,” he went on, addressing the Princess significantly.
“How came you here?” gasped Gabriel.
“I brought my prisoner here. Where should I be if not here to guard him?”
“When—when did you enter this room?”
“An hour ago.”
“You were not here when I came!”
“I have been standing on this spot for an hour. You have been very much excited, I'll agree, but it is strange you did not see me,” lied Quinnox.
Gabriel looked about helplessly, nonplussed.
“You were here when I came in?” he asked, wonderingly.
“Ask Her Royal Highness,” commanded the captain, smiling.
“Captain Quinnox brought the prisoner to me an hour ago,” she said, mechanically.
“It is a lie!” cried Gabriel. “He was not here when I entered!”
The captain of the guard laid a heavy hand on the shoulder of the Prince and said, threateningly:
“I was here and I am here. Have a care how you speak. Were I to do right I should shoot you like a dog. You came like a thief, you insult the ruler of my land. I have borne it all because you are a Prince, but have a care—have a care. I may forget myself and tear out your black heart with these hands. One word from Her Royal Highness will be your death warrant.”
He looked inquiringly at the Princess as if anxious to put the dangerous witness where he could tell no tales. She shook her head, but did not speak. Lorry realized that the time had come for him to assert himself. Assuming a distressed air he bowed his head and said, dejectedly:
“My pleading has been in vain, then, your Highness. I have sworn to you that I am innocent of this murder, and you have said I shall have a fair trial. That is all you can offer?”
“That is all,” she said, shrilly, her mind gradually grasping his meaning.
“You will not punish the poor people who secreted me in their house for weeks, for they are convinced of my innocence. Your captain here, who found me in their house to-night, can also speak well of them. I have only this request to make, in return for what little service I may have given you: Forgive the old people who befriended me. I am ready to go to the Tower at once, captain.”
Gabriel heard this speech with a skeptical smile on his face.
“I am no fool,” he said, simply. “Captain,” shrewdly turning to Quinnox, “if he is your prisoner, why do you permit him to retain his revolver?”
The conspirators were taken by surprise, but Lorry had found his wits.
“It is folly, your Highness, to allow this gentleman and conquering Prince to cross-examine you. I am a prisoner, and that is the end of it. What odds is it to the Prince of Dawsbergen how and where I was caught or why your officer brought me to you?”
“You were ordered from my house once today, yet you come again like a conqueror. I should not spare you. You deserve to lose your life for the actions of tonight. Captain Quinnox, will you kill him if I ask you to end his wretched life?” Yetive's eyes were blazing with wrath, beneath which gleamed a hope that he could be frightened into silence.
“Willingly—willingly!” cried Quinnox. “Now, your Highness? 'Twere better in the hall!”
“For God's sake, do not murder me! Let me go!” cringed the Prince.
“I do not mean that you should kill him now, Quinnox, but I instruct you to do so if he puts foot inside these walls again. Do you understand?”
“Yes, your Highness.”
“Then you will place this prisoner in the castle dungeon until to-morrow morning, when he is to be taken to the Tower. Prince Gabriel may accompany you to the dungeon cell, if he likes, after which you will escort him to the gates. If he enters them again you are to kill him. Take them both away!”
“Your Highness, I must ask you to write a pardon for the good people in whose house the prisoner was found,” suggested Quinnox, shrewdly seeing a chance for communication unsuspected by the Prince.
“A moment, your Highness,” said the Prince, who had recovered himself cleverly. “I appreciate your position. I have made a serious charge, and I now have a fair proposition to suggest to you. If this man is not produced to-morrow morning I take it for granted that I am at liberty to tell all that has happened in this room to-night. If he is produced, I shall kneel and beg your pardon.”
The Princess turned paler than ever and knew not how she kept from falling to the floor. There was a long silence following Gabriel's unexpected but fair suggestion.
“That is very fair, your Highness,” said Lorry. “There is no reason why I should not be a prisoner to-morrow. I don't see how I can hope to escape the inevitable. Your dungeon is strong and I have given my word of honor to the captain that I shall make no further effort to evade the law.”
“I agree,” murmured the Princess, ready to faint under the strain.
“I must see him delivered to Prince Bolaroz,” added Gabriel mercilessly.
“To Bolaroz,” she repeated.
“Your Highness, the pardon for the poor old people,” reminded Quinnox. She glided to the desk, stunned, bewildered. It seemed as though death were upon her. Quinnox followed and bent near her ear. “Do not be alarmed,” he whispered. “No one knows of Mr. Lorry's presence here save the Prince, and if he dares to accuse you before Bolaroz our people will tear him to pieces. No one will believe him.”
“You—you can save him, then?” she gasped, joyously.
“If he will permit me to do so. Write to him what you will, your Highness, and he shall have the message. Be brave and all will go well. Write quickly! This is supposed to be the pardon.”
She wrote feverishly, a thousand thoughts arising for every one that she was able to transfer to the paper. When she had finished the hope-inspired scrawl she arose and, with a gracious smile, handed to the waiting captain the pardon for those who had secreted the fugitive.
“I grant forgiveness to them gladly,” she said.
“I thank you,” said Lorry, bowing low.
“Mr. Lorry, I regret the difficulty in which you find yourself. It was on my account, too, I am told. Be you guilty or innocent, you are my friend, my protector. May God be good to you.” She gave him her hand calmly, steadily, as if she were bestowing favor upon a subject. He kissed the hand gravely.
“Forgive me for trespassing on your good nature tonight, your Highness.
“The five thousand gavvos shall be yours tomorrow, Captain Quinnox,” she said, graciously. “You have done your duty well.” The faithful captain bowed deep and low and a weight was lifted from his conscience.
“Gentlemen, the door,” he said, and without a word the trio left the room. She closed the door and stood like a statue until their footsteps died away in the distance. As one in a daze she sat at the desk till the dawn, Grenfall Lorry's revolver lying before her.
Through the halls, down the stairs and into the clammy dungeon strode the silent trio.
But before Lorry stepped inside the cell Gabriel asked a question that had been troubling him for many minutes.
“I am afraid I have—ah—misjudged her,” muttered Gabriel, now convinced that he had committed himself irretrievably.
“You will find she has not misjudged you,” said the prisoner, grimly. “Can't I have a candle in here, captain?”
“You may keep this lantern,” said Quinnox, stepping inside the narrow cell. As he placed the lantern on the floor he whispered: “I will return in an hour. Read this!” Lorry's hand closed over the bit of perfumed paper.
The Prince was now inside the cell, peering about curiously, even timorously. “By the way, your Highness, how would you enjoy living in a hole like this all your life?”
“Horrible!” said Gabriel, shuddering like a leaf.
“Then take my advice: don't commit any murders. Hire some one else.”
The two men eyed each other steadily for a moment or two. Then the Prince looked out of the cell, a mad desire to fly from some dreadful, unseen horror coming over him.
Quinnox locked the door, and, striking a match, bade His Highness precede him up the stone steps.
In the cell the prisoner read and reread the incoherent message from Yetive:
“It is the only way. Quinnox will assist you to escape to-night. Go, I implore you; as you love me, go. Your life is more than all to me. Gabriel's story will not be entertained and he can have no proof. He will be torn to pieces, Quinnox says. I do not know how I can live until I am certain you are safe. This will be the longest night a woman ever spent. If I could only be sure that you will do as I ask, as I beg and implore! Do not think of me, but save yourself. I would lose everything to save you.”
He smiled sadly as he burned the “pardon.” The concluding sentences swept away the last thought he might have had of leaving her to bear the consequences. “Do not think of me, but save yourself. I would lose everything to save you.” He leaned against the stone wall and shook his head slowly, the smile still on his lips.
The next morning Edelweiss was astir early. Great throngs of people flocked the streets long before the hour set for the signing of the decree that was to divide the north from the south. There were men and women from the mountains, from the southern valleys, from the plains to the north and east. Sullen were the mutterings, threatening the faces, resentful the hearts of those who crowded the shops, the public places and the streets. Before nine o'clock the great concourse of people began to push toward the castle. Castle Avenue was packed with the moving masses. Thousands upon thousands of this humbled race gathered outside the walls, waiting for news from the castle with the spark of hope that does not die until the very end, nursing the possibility that something might intervene at the last moment to save the country from disgrace and ruin.
A strong guard was required to keep the mob back from the gates, and the force of men on the wall had been quadrupled. Business in the city was suspended. The whole nation, it seemed, stood before the walls, awaiting, with bated breath and dismal faces, the announcement that Yetive had deeded to Bolaroz the lands and lives of half of her subjects. The northern plainsmen who were so soon to acknowledge Axphain sovereignty, wept and wailed over their unhappy lot. Brothers and sisters from the south cursed and moaned in sympathy.
Shortly before nine o'clock, Harry Anguish, with his guard of six, rode up to the castle. Captain Dangloss was beside him on his gray charger. They had scarcely passed inside the gates when a cavalcade of mounted men came riding up the avenue from the Hotel Regengetz. Then the howling, the hissing, the hooting began. Maledictions were hurled at the heads of Axphain noblemen as they rode between the maddened lines of people. They smiled sardonically in reply to the impotent signs of hatred, but they were glad when the castle gates closed between them and the vast, despairing crowd, in which the tempest of revolt was brewing with unmistakable energy.
Prince Bolaroz, the Duke of Mizrox and the ministers were already in the castle and had been there since the previous afternoon. In the royal palace the excitement was intense, but it was of the subdued kind that strains the nerves to the point where control is martyrdom.
When the attendants went to the bed chamber of the Princess at seven o'clock, as was their wont, they found, to their surprise, no one standing guard.
The Princess was not in her chamber, nor had she been there during the night. The bed was undisturbed. In some alarm the two women ran to her parlor, then to the boudoir. Here they found her asleep on the divan, attired in the gown she had worn since the evening before, now crumpled and creased, the proof positive of a restless, miserable night.
Her first act after awakening and untangling the meshes in her throbbing, uncomprehending brain, was to send for Quinnox. She could scarcely wait for his appearance and the assurance that Lorry was safely out of danger. The footman who had been sent to fetch the captain was a long time in returning. She was dressed in her breakfast gown long before he came in with the report that the captain was nowhere to be found. Her heart gave a great throb of joy. She alone could explain his absence. To her it meant but one thing: Lorry's flight from the castle. Where else could Quinnox be except with the fugitive, perhaps once more inside St. Valentine's? With the great load of suspense off her mind she cared not for the trials that still confronted her on that dreaded morning. She had saved him, and she was willing to pay the price.
Preparations began at once for the eventful transaction in the throne room. The splendor of two Courts was to shine in rivalry. Ten o'clock was the hour set for the meeting of the two rulers, the victor and the victim. Her nobles and her ladies, her ministers, her guards and her lackeys moved about in the halls, dreading the hour, brushing against the hated Axphain guests. In one of the small waiting rooms sat the Count and Countess Halfont, the latter in tears. The young Countess Dagmar stood at a window with Harry Anguish. The latter was flushed and nervous and acted like a man who expects that which is unexpected by others. With a strange confidence in his voice, he sought to cheer his depressed friends, but the cheerfulness was not contagious. The sombreness of a burial hung over the castle.
Half an hour before the time set for the meeting in the throne room Yetive sent for her uncle, her aunt and Dagmar. As Anguish and the latter followed the girl turned her sad, puzzled eyes up to the face of the tall American and asked:
“Are you rejoicing over our misfortune? You do not show a particle of regret. Do you forget that we are sacrificing a great deal to save the life of your friend? I do not understand how you can be so heartless.”
“If you knew what I know you'd jump so high you could crack those pretty heels of yours together ten times before you touched the floor again,” said he, warmly.
“Please tell me,” she cried. “I knew there was something.”
“But I am afraid so high a jump would upset you for the day. You must wait awhile, Dagmar.” It was the first time he had called her Dagmar, and she looked startled.
“I am not used to waiting,” she said, confusedly.
“I think I can explain satisfactorily when I have more time,” he said, softly in her ear, and, although she tried, she could find no words to continue. He left her at the head of the stairs, and did not see her again until she passed him in the throne room. Then she was pale and brave and trembling.
Prince Bolaroz and his nobles stood to the right of the throne, the Graustark men and women of degree to the left, while near the door, on both sides were to be seen the leading military men of both principalities. Near the Duke of Mizrox was stationed the figure of Gabriel, Prince of Dawsbergen. He had come, with a half dozen followers, among a crowd of unsuspecting Axphainians, and had taken his position near the throne. Anguish entered with Baron Dangloss and they stood together near the doorway, the latter whiter than he had ever been in his life.
Then came the hush of expectancy. The doors swung open, the curtains parted and the Princess entered.
She was supported by the arm of her tall uncle, Caspar of Halfont. Pages carried the train of her dress, a jeweled gown of black. As she advanced to the throne, calm and stately, those assembled bent knee to the fairest woman the eye ever had looked upon.
The calm, proud exterior hid the most unhappy of hearts. The resolute courage with which her spirit had been braced for the occasion was remarkable in more ways than one. Among other inspirations behind the valiant show was the bravery of a guilty conscience. Her composure sustained a shock when she passed Allode at the door. That faithful, heart-broken servitor looked at her face with pleading, horror-struck eyes as much as to say: “Good God, are you going to destroy Graustark for the sake of that murderer? Have pity on us—have pity!”
Before taking her seat on the throne, she swept the thrilled assemblage with her wide blue eyes. There were shadows beneath them and there were wells of tears behind them. As she looked upon the little knot of white-faced northern barons, her knees trembled and her heart gave a great throb of pity. Still the face was resolute. Then she saw Anguish and the suffering Dangloss; then the accusing, merciless eyes of Gabriel. At sight of him she started violently and an icy fear crept into her soul. Instinctively she searched the gorgeous company for the captain of the guard. Her staunchest ally was not there. Was she to hear the condemning words alone? Would the people do as Quinnox had prophesied, or would they believe Gabriel and curse her?
She sank into the great chair and sat with staring, helpless eyes, deserted and feeble.
At last the whirling brain ended its flight and settled down to the issue first at hand-the transaction with Bolaroz. Summoning all her self-control, she said:
“You are come, most noble Bolaroz, to draw from us the price of our defeat. We are loyal to our compact, as you are to yours, sire. Yet, in the presence of my people and in the name of mercy and justice, I ask you to grant us respite. You are rich and powerful, we despoiled and struggling beneath a weight we can lift and displace if given a few short years in which to grow and gather strength. At this last hour in the fifteen years of our indebtedness, I sue in supplication for the leniency that you can so well accord. It is on the advice of my counsellors that I put away personal pride and national dignity to make this request, trusting to your goodness of heart. If you will not hearken to our petition for a renewal of negotiations, there is but one course open to Graustark. We can and will pay our debt of honor.”
Bolaroz stood before her, dark and uncompromising. She saw the futility of her plea.
“I have not forgotten, most noble petitioner, that you are ruler here, not I. Therefore I am in no way responsible for the conditions which confront you, except that I am an honest creditor, come for his honest dues. This is the twentieth of November. You have had fifteen years to accumulate enough to meet the requirements of this day. Should I suffer for your faults? There is in the treaty a provision which applies to an emergency of this kind. Your inability to liquidate in gold does not prevent the payment of this honest debt in land, as provided for in the sixth clause of the agreement. 'All that part of Graustark north of a line drawn directly from east to west between the provinces of Ganlook and Doswan, a tract comprising Doswan, Shellotz, Varagan, Oeswald, Sesmai and Gattabatton.' You have two alternatives, your Highness. Produce the gold or sign the decree ceding to Axphain the lands stipulated in the treaty. I can grant no respite.”
“You knew when that treaty was framed that we could raise no such funds in fifteen years,” said Halfont, forgetting himself in his indignation. Gaspon and other men present approved his hasty declaration.
“Am I dealing with the Princess of Graustark or with you, sir?” asked Bolaroz, roughly.
“You are dealing with the people of Graustark, and among the poorest, I. I will sign the decree. There is nothing to be gained by appealing to you. The papers, Gaspon, quick! I would have this transaction finished speedily,” cried the Princess, her cheeks flushing and her eyes glowing from the flames of a burning conscience. The groan that went up from the northern nobles cut her like the slash of a knife.
“There was one other condition,” said Bolaroz, hastily, unable to gloat as he had expected. “The recapture of the assassin who slew my son would have meant much to Graustark. It is unfortunate that your police department is so inefficient.” Dangloss writhed beneath this thrust. Yetive's eyes went to him, for an instant, sorrowfully. Then they dropped to the fatal document which Gaspon had placed on the table before her. The lines ran together and were the color of blood. Unconsciously she took the pen in her nerveless fingers. A deep sob came from the breast of her gray old uncle, and Gaspon's hand shook like a leaf as he placed the seal of Graustark on the table, ready for use.
“The assassin's life could have saved you,” went on Bolaroz, a vengeful glare coming to his eyes.
She looked up and her lips moved as if she would have spoken. No words came, no breath, it seemed to her. Casting a piteous, hunted glance over the faces before her, she bent forward and blindly touched the pen to the paper. The silence was that of death. Before she could make the first stroke, a harsh voice, in which there was combined triumph and amazement, broke the stillness like the clanging of a bell.
“Have you no honor?”
The pen dropped from her fingers as the expected condemnation came. Every eye in the house was turned toward the white, twitching face of Gabriel of Dawsbergen. He stood a little apart from his friends, his finger pointed throneward. The Princess stared at the nemesis-like figure for an instant, as if petrified. Then the pent-up fear crowded everything out of its path. In sheer desperation, her eyes flashing with the intensity of defiant guilt, bitter rage welling up against her persecutor, she half arose and cried:
“Who uttered those words? Speak!”
“I, Gabriel of Dawsbergen! Where is the prisoner, madam?” rang out the voice.
“The man is mad!” cried she, sinking back with a shudder.
“Mad, eh? Because I do as I did promise? Behold the queen of perfidy! Madam, I will be heard. Lorry is in this castle!”
“He is mad!” gasped Bolaroz, the first of the stunned spectators to find his tongue.
There was a commotion near the door. Voices were heard outside.
“You have been duped!” insisted Gabriel, taking several steps toward the throne. “Your idol is a traitress, a deceiver! I say he is here! She has seen him. Let her sign that decree if she dares! I command you, Yetive of Graustark, to produce this criminal!”
The impulse to crush the defiler was checked by the sudden appearance of two men inside the curtains.
“He is here!” cried a strong voice, and Lorry, breathless and haggard, pushed through the astonished crowd, followed by Captain Quinnox, upon whose ghastly face there were bloodstains.
A shout went up from those assembled, a shout of joy. The faces of Dangloss and Allode were pictures of astonishment and—it must be said—relief. Harry Anguish staggered but recovered himself instantly, and turned his eyes toward Gabriel. That worthy's legs trembled and his jaw dropped.
“I have the prisoner, your Highness,” said Quinnox, in hoarse, discordant tones. He stood before the throne with his captive, but dared not look his mistress in the face. As they stood there the story of the night just passed was told by the condition of the two men. There had been a struggle for supremacy in the dungeon and the prisoner had won. The one had tried to hold the other to the dungeon's safety, after his refusal to leave the castle, and the other had fought his way to the halls above. It was then that Quinnox had wit enough to change front and drag his prisoner to the place which, most of all, he had wished to avoid.
“The prisoner!” shouted the northern nobles, and in an instant the solemn throne room was wild with excitement.
“Do not sign that decree!” cried some one from a far corner.
“Here is your man, Prince Bolaroz!” cried a baron.
“Quinnox has saved us!” shouted another.
The Princess, white as death and as motionless, sat bolt upright in her royal seat.
“Oh!” she moaned, piteously, and, clenching her hands, she carried them to her eyes as if to shut out the sight. The Countess Halfont and Dagmar ran to her side, the latter frantic with alarm. She knew more than the others.
“Are you the fugitive?” cried Bolaroz.
I am Grenfall Lorry. Are you Bolaroz?'
“The father of the man you murdered. Ah, this is rapture!”
“I have only to say to your Highness, I did not kill your son. I swear it, so help me God!”
“Your Highness,” cried Bolaroz, stepping to the throne, “destroy that decree. This brave soldier has saved Graustark. In an hour your ministers and mine will have drawn up a ten Tears' extension of time, in proper form, to which my signature shall be gladly attached. I have not forgotten my promise.”
Yetive straightened suddenly, seized the pen and fiercely began to sign the decree, in spite of all and before those about her fairly realized her intention. Lorry understood, and was the first to snatch the document from her hands. A half-written Yetive, a blot and a long, spluttering scratch of the pen told how near she had come to signing away the lands of Graustark, forgetful of the fact that it could be of no benefit to the prisoner she loved.
“Yetive!” gasped her uncle, in horror.
“She would have signed,” cried Gaspon, in wonder and alarm.
“Yes, I would have signed!” she exclaimed, starting to her feet, strong and defiant. “I could not have saved his life, perhaps, but I might have saved him from the cruel injustice that that man's vengeance would have invented. He is innocent, and I would give my kingdom to stay the wrong that will be done.”
“What! You defend the dog!” cried Bolaroz. “Seize him, men! I will see that justice is done. It is no girl he has to deal with now.”
“Stop!” cried the Princess, the command checking the men. Quinnox leaped in front of his charge. “He is my prisoner, and he shall have justice. Keep back your soldiery, Prince Bolaroz. It is a girl you have to deal with. I will say to you all, my people and yours, that I believe him to be innocent and that I sincerely regret his capture, fortunate as it may be for us. He shall have a fair and a just trial, and I shall do all in my power, Prince Bolaroz, to secure his acquittal.”
“Why do you take this stand, Yetive? Why have you tried to shield him?” cried the heartbroken Halfont.
She drew herself to her full height, and, sweeping the threatening crowd with a challenge in her eyes, cried, the tones ringing strong and clear above the growing tumult:
“Because I love him!”
As if by magic the room became suddenly still.
“Behold an honest man. I would have saved him at the cost of my honor. Scorn me if you will, but listen to this. The man who stands here accused came voluntarily to this castle, surrendering himself to Captain Quinnox, that he might, though innocent, stand between us and disaster. He was safe from our pursuit, yet returned, perhaps to his death. For me, for you and for Graustark he has done this. Is there a man among you who would have done as much for his own country? Yet he does this for a country to which he is stranger. I must commit him to prison once more. But,” she cried in sudden fierceness, “I promise him now, before the trial, a royal pardon. Do I make my meaning clear to you, Prince Bolaroz?”
The white lips of the old Prince could frame no reply to this daring speech.
“Be careful whet you say, your Highness,” cried the prisoner, hastily. “I must refuse to accept a pardon at the cost of your honor. It is because I love you better than my life that I stand here. I cannot allow you and your people to suffer when it is in my power to prevent it. All that I can ask is fairness and justice. I am not guilty, and God will protect me. Prince Bolaroz, I call upon you to keep your promise. I am not the slayer of your son, but I am the man you would send to the block, guilty or innocent.”
As he spoke, the Princess dropped back in the chair, her rash courage gone. A stir near the doorway followed his concluding sentence, and the other American stepped forward, his face showing his excitement.
“Your Highness,” he said, “I should have spoken sooner. My lips were parted and ready to cry out when Prince Gabriel interposed and prevented the signing of the decree. Grenfall Lorry did not kill the young Prince. I can produce the guilty man!”
The startling assertion created a fresh sensation. Sensations had come so thick and so fast, however, that they seemed component parts of one grand bewildering climax. The new actor in the drama held the center of the stage undisputed.
“Harry!” cried Lorry.
“Prince Gabriel, why do you shake like a leaf? Is it because you know what I am going to say?” exclaimed Anguish, pointing his finger accusingly at the astonished Prince of Dawsbergen.
Gabriel's lips parted, but nothing more than a gasp escaped them. Involuntarily his eyes sought the door, then the windows, the peculiar uncontrollable look of the hunted coming into them. Bolaroz allowed his gaze to leap instantly to that pallid face and every eye in the room followed. Yetive was standing again, her face glowing.
“An accomplice has confessed all. I have the word of the man who saw the crime committed. I charge Prince Gabriel with the murder of His Highness, Prince Lorenz.”
With a groan, Gabriel threw his hands to his heart and tottered forward, glaring at the merciless face of the accuser.
“Confessed! Betrayed!” he faltered. Then he whirled like a maniac upon his little coterie of followers. “Vile traitor!” he shrieked, “I will drink your heart's blood!”
With a howl he leaped toward one of the men, a darkfaced nobleman named Berrowag. The latter evaded him and rushed toward the door, crying:
“It is a lie! a lie! He has tricked you! I did not confess!”
The Prince was seized by his friends, struggling and cursing. A peculiar smile lit up the face of Harry Anguish.
“I repeat, he is the assassin!”
Gabriel broke from the detaining hands and drawing a revolver, rushed for the door.
“Out of the way! I will not be taken alive!”
Allode met him at the curtains and grasped him in his powerful arms, Baron Dangloss and others tearing the weapon from his hand. The utmost confusion reigned—women screaming, men shouting—and above all could be heard the howls of the accused Prince.
“Let me go! Curse you! Curse you! I will not surrender! Let me kill that traitor! Let me at him!” Berrowag had been seized by willing hands, and the two men glared at each other, one crazy with rage, the other shrinking with fear.
Dangloss and Allode half carried, half dragged the Prince forward. As he neared Bolaroz and the Princess he collapsed and became a trembling, moaning suppliant for mercy. Anguish's accusation had struck home.
“Prince Bolaroz, I trust you will not object if the Princess Yetive substitutes the true assassin for the man named in your promise to Graustark,” said Anguish, dramatically. Bolaroz, as if coming from a dream, turned and knelt before the throne.
“Most adorable Yetive,” he said; “I sue for pardon. I bow low and lay my open heart before the truest woman in the world.” He kissed the black lace hem of her gown and arose. “I am your friend and ally; Axphain and Graustark will live no more with hatred in their hearts. From you I have learned a lesson in justice and constancy.”
Prince Gabriel was raving like a madman as the officers hurried him and Berrowag from the room. A shout went up from those assembled. Its echo, reaching the halls, then the gardens, was finally taken up by the waiting masses beyond the gates. The news flew like wild-fire. Rejoicing, such as had never been known, shook Edelweiss until the monks on the mountain looked down in wonder.
After the dazed and happy throng about the throne had heaped its expressions of love and devotion upon the radiant Princess a single figure knelt in subjection, just as she was preparing to depart. It was the Duke of Mizrox.
“Your Royal Highness, Mizrox is ready to pay his forfeit. My life is yours,” he said, calmly. She did not comprehend until her uncle reminded her of the oath Mizrox had taken the morning after the murder.
“He swore, on his life, that you killed Lorenz,” she said, turning to Lorry.
“I was wrong, but I am willing to pay the penalty. My love for Lorenz was greater than my discretion. That is my only excuse, but it is one you should not accept,” said Mizrox, as coolly as if announcing the time of day. Lorry looked first at him and then at the Princess, bewildered and uncertain.
“I have no ill will against you, my Lord Duke. Release him from his bond your Highness.”
“Gladly, since you refuse to hold him to his oath,” she said.
“I am under an eternal obligation to you, sir, for your leniency, and I shall ever revere the Princess who pardons so graciously the gravest error.”
Yetive begged Bolaroz to continue to make the Court his home while in Graustark, and the old Prince responded with the declaration that he would remain long enough to sign and approve the new covenant, at least. Before stepping from the throne, Yetive called in low tones to Lorry, a pretty flush mantling her cheek:
“Will you come to me in half an hour?”
“For my reward?” he asked, eagerly.
“Ach?” she cried, softly, reprovingly. Count Halfont's face took on a troubled expression as he caught the swift communication in their eyes. After all, she was a Princess.
She passed from the room beside Halfont, proud and happy in the victory over despair, glorying in the exposure of her heart to the world, her blood tingling and dancing with the joys of anticipation. Lorry and Anguish, the wonder and admiration of all, were given a short but convincing levee in the hallway. Lords and ladies praised and lauded them, overwhelming them with the homage that comes to the brave. But Gaspon uttered one wish that struck Lorry's warm, leaping heart like a piece of ice.
“Would to God that you were a Prince of the realm,” said the minister of finance, a look of regret and longing in his eyes. That wish of Gaspon's sent Lorry away with the sharp steel of desolation, torturing intensely as it drove deeper and deeper the reawakened pangs of uncertainty. There still remained the fatal distance between him and the object of his heart's desire.
He accompanied Captain Quinnox to his quarters, where he made himself presentable before starting for the enchanted apartment in the far end of the castle. Eager, burning passion throbbed side by side with the cold pulsing of fear, a trembling race between two unconquerable emotions. Passion longed for the voice, the eyes, the caresses; fear cried aloud in every troubled throb: “You will see her and kiss her and then you will be banished.”
The two emotions thus thrown together, clashing fiercely for supremacy, at last wove themselves into a single, solid, uncompromising whole. Out of the two grew an aggressive determination not to be thwarted. Love and fear combined to give him strength; from his eyes fled the hopeless look, from his brain the doubt, from his blood the chill.
“Quinnox, give me your hand—don't mind the blood! You have been my friend, and you have served her almost to the death. I injured and would have killed you in that cell, but it was not in anger. Will you be my friend in all that is to follow?”
“She has said that she loves you,” said the captain, returning the hand clasp. “I am at your service as well as hers.”
A few moments later Lorry was in her presence. What was said or done during the half hour that passed between his entrance and the moment that brought them side by side from the room need not be told. That the interview had had its serious side was plain. The troubled, anxious eyes of the girl and the rebellious, dogged air of the man told of a conflict now only in abeyance.
“I will never give you up,” he said, as they came from the door. A wistful gleam flickered in her eyes, but she did not respond in words.
Near the head of the stairway an animated group of persons lingered. Harry Anguish was in the center and the Countess Dagmar was directly in front of him, looking up with sparkling eyes and parted lips. The Count and Countess Halfont, Gaspon, the Baron Dangloss, the Duke of Mizrox, with other ladies and gentlemen, were being entertained by the gay-spirited stranger.
“Here he comes,” cried the latter, as he caught sight of the approaching couple.
“I am delighted to see you, Harry. You were the friend in need, old man,” said Lorry, wringing the other's hand. Yetive gave him her hand, her blue eyes overflowing.
“Mr. Anguish had just begun to tell us how he—how he—” began Dagmar, but paused helplessly, looking to him for relief.
“Go ahead, Countess; it isn't very elegant, but it's the way I said it. How I 'got next' to Gabriel is what she wants to say. Perhaps your Highness would like to know all about the affair that ended so tragically. It's very quickly told,” said Anguish.
“I am deeply interested,” said the Princess, eagerly.
“Well, in the first place, it was all a bluff,” said he, coolly.
“A what!” demanded Dagmar.
“Bluff,” responded Harry, briefly; “American patois, dear Countess.”
“In what respect,” asked Lorry, beginning to understand.
“In all respects. I didn't have the slightest sign of proof against the festive Prince.”
“And you—you did all that 'on a bluff'?” gasped the other.
“Do I understand you to say that you have no evidence against Gabriel?” asked Halfont, dumbfounded.
“Not a particle.”
“But you said his confederate had confessed,” protested Dangloss.
“I didn't know that he had a confederate, and I wasn't sure that he was guilty of the crime,” boasted Anguish, complacently enjoying the stupefaction.
“Then why did you say so?” demanded Dangloss, excited beyond measure.
“Oh, I just guessed at it!”
“God save us!” gasped Baron Dangloss, Chief of Police.
“Guessed at it?” cried Mizrox.
“That's it. It was a bold stroke, but it won. Now, I'll tell you this much. I was morally certain that Gabriel killed the Prince. There was no way on earth to prove it, however, and I'll admit it was intuition or something of that sort which convinced me. He had tried to abduct the Princess, and he was madly jealous of Lorenz. Although he knew there was to be a duel, he was not certain that Lorenz would lose, so he adopted a clever plan to get rid of two rivals by killing one and casting suspicion on the other. These deductions I made soon after the murder, but, of course, could secure no proof. Early this morning, at the hotel, I made up my mind to denounce him suddenly if I had the chance, risking failure but hoping for such an exhibition as that which you saw. It was clear to me that he had an accomplice to stand guard while he did the stabbing, but I did not dream it was Berrowag. Lorry's sensational appearance, when I believed him to be far away from here, disturbed me greatly but it made it all the more necessary that I should take the risk with Gabriel. As I watched him I became absolutely convinced of his guilt. The only way to accuse him was to do it boldly and thoroughly, so I rang in the accomplice and the witness features. You all know how the 'bluff' worked.”
“And you had no more proof than this?” asked Dangloss, weakly.
“That's all,” laughed the delighted strategist.
Dangloss stared at him for a moment, then threw up his hands and walked away, shaking his head, whether in stupefied admiration or utter disbelief, no one knew. The others covered Anguish with compliments, and he was more than ever the hero of the day. Such confidence paralyzed the people. The only one who was not overcome with astonishment was his countryman.
“You did it well,” he said in an undertone to Anguish; “devilish well.”
“You might at least say I did it to the queen's taste,” growled Anguish, meaningly.
“Well, then, you did,” laughed Lorry.