THE RED FOX'S SON (continued 2)

"There are things in this Kingdom that are unknown even to Nicholas," he said mildly, lowering his voice. "I trust that the time will come when it will be given him to know. Then I would like to be the messenger."

"The Prince," I said, "is the handsomest boy I have ever seen."

But the General did not reply. He was listening with rapt attention to the fine whole-souled barytone voice of his Bharbazonian boy, singing a folksong in the language. The expression on his face partook of the look of a devout worshipper before his best loved shrine.

"Volt nekem egy daru ssoru paripam," sang Nick.

The accompaniment he was playing was in that weird minor strain which always sends a shiver down one's back. The words of the song told of the sorrow of a nation in bondage. It was an old favourite with me, for Nick often sang it when the lights were low and the schoolroom problems were laid away for the night. I admired it so much that Nick gave me the music, written by Francis Korbay, and it was even now lying on my piano at home. In English the song runs:

"Had a horse, a finer no man ever saw;

But the sheriff sold him in the name of law.

E'en a stirrup cup the rascal would not yield.

But, no matter! more was lost at Mohacs' field.

"Had a farmhouse, but they burnt it to the ground;

Don't know even where the spot may now be found.

In the county roll 'tis safe inscribed and sealed;

But, no matter! more was lost at Mohacs' field.

"Had a sweetheart; mourned her loss for years and years;

Thought her dead and every day gave her my tears.

Now, I find her 'neath another's roof and shield;

But, no matter! more was lost at Mohacs' field."

As Nick poured his soul into the rendition of the war song of the Balkans, a song which he told me every native knew and revered as he loved his Bible, I could almost picture the little handful of 25,000 men who fell before the overwhelming force of 200,000 Turks on that fateful day, August 29, 1526, when "Mohacsnal" became to the Slavs what "Don't give up the ship" was to the Americans hundreds of years later. I was not surprised to hear the General's deep bass join in the single line refrain at the close of each verse:

"No, de se baj, tobb is veszett Mohacsnal!"

With such a spirit abroad in the land, I could understand how the defeated but unconquered Hungarian and Balkan warriors continued the struggle until there is little left of the dwindling empire of the "unspeakable Turk" in Europe to-day except the dissatisfied country around his capital city of Constantinople.

"Great song," panted the General when Nick concluded, but the light of battle died out of his eyes when Nick, after a few preliminary chords, broke into the popular American songs of the day and cleared the atmosphere of its political heaviness. We were all in the best of spirits when we retired. Although there were many rooms in the castle, I found to my delight that Nick and I were to sleep together in his boyhood chamber. Possibly it was the association of ideas, but believe it who will, we romped about like children and did not get to sleep until the General came to the door to interrupt our pillow fight with the natural complaint that he was unable to sleep, and the dry suggestion that we repair to the lawn to finish it.

At sight of the bristling old warrior in his pink nightcap and pajamas to match, we scurried beneath the covers with such a perfect imitation of two naughty boys who expected to be spanked and put to bed, that even the General, forgetting his irritation, was forced to lose his gravity and join in the general merriment.

Long after the lights were out and we were quieted down, too tired to laugh any more, I heard Nick drawl sleepily in memory of our college days:

"Let's go over to Woodland avenue and steal a lamp post."

Outside a gentle wind rustled the ivy vines clinging patiently to the Castle wall. Not another sound disturbed the stillness of the country night. Overcome by the silence I drifted away in the arms of sleep well content with my first hours in the Kingdom of Bharbazonia.

The next day we met Solonika.

CHAPTER VI

SOLONIKA'S SUMMER-HOUSE

And when a lady's in the case,

You know, all other things give place.

—Gay: Fables.

The General's was one of those angelic, choleric dispositions that frequently blow up under pressure of sudden anger, but emerge smiling from the havoc of the explosion, bearing no malice. When we met him at the breakfast table the next morning, the only reference he made to the boyish escapade of the night before was concealed in his pleasant greeting.

"Good morning, children."

"Good morning, sir," we unisoned like a Greek chorus.

"What new deviltry are you two planning this morning?"

We assured him that we felt our age and the responsibilities of life, and that we intended henceforth to be very good boys indeed if he would cease reminding us of our youth.

The talk about the table was of the impending coronation. The General was impatient for news as to how the preparations for that great event were progressing. During his rapid journey to America, in search of Nicholas, much had been done, but he had no doubt much remained undone.

"How would you both like to run down to Nischon with me?" he asked. "We will be back by nightfall if we take the machine."

To my surprise Nicholas did not immediately acquiesce. He usually found it agreeable to do what the General proposed, but for some reason he did not grow enthusiastic over the coronation. As for myself, it did not suit my purpose to go to the capital city, much as I desired to see it. I had other plans, but I could not tell the General for fear of risking his displeasure. For, notwithstanding his admonition to the contrary, I intended to go over to Castle Dhalmatia and see the Prince. Down in my heart I suppose was the hope that I might also make the acquaintance of his twin sister the Princess Solonika. Ever since I heard their romantic story from the General's lips, I experienced a great desire to get to the bottom of the mystery and prove the General right or wrong. The opportunity of seeing Nischon was mine any time, but the chance of visiting the inhospitable Castle in the guise of a physician was not to be lost.

"The king has set his heart upon making this occasion one long to be remembered in Bharbazonia, and we must stand ready to help him," continued the General. "He will be happy to see you, the heir of Framkor, Nicholas. He loves the young men of his country and was much interested in my trip to find you."

Still Nicholas remained silent.

"Don't you care to go?" asked Palmora.

"If my preference is to be considered, Godfather," said Nick, "I would rather stay at home. I will gladly accompany you another time. But to-day I am tired after our long journey."

"And you?" said the General turning to me.

"I would rather stay here with Nick."

"All right," he replied, "I will go alone, provided I may borrow your car, Nick."

"Gladly," said Nick, relieved at being let off so easily.

Teju Okio brought the big machine under the porte-cochère, and we were preparing to see the General off when a lone horseman cantered up the driveway among the trees, his long Spanish cloak waving in the breeze and his sword jangling at his side. He was a good looking black haired youth, and he rode his charger with the ease of a cavalryman. It took all his horsemanship to get his restive animal to face the running engines, but by dint of a liberal use of spurs and much coaxing he finally came within hailing distance.

The General seemed to recognize him and returned his salute graciously. Upon the rider's breast, under his wind-tossed cloak, was the same kind of a Greek cross, two parallel bars and one at an angle, which I had seen both the General and Nicholas wearing upon the yacht. Whatever his business was, it was speedily transacted. He shouted a question at the General, received a reply, waved a parting salute, and was off like the wind, his struggling steed showing a fine pair of heels to the demon in the porte-cochère.

"The Grand Duke Marbosa seems much concerned for my safe arrival," said Nick. "His messenger is here early."

"I suppose Marchaud, the innkeeper, has spread the news of our return," said the General.

"What have I to do with Marbosa?" said Nick.

"I'll tell you about that when I see you to-night," replied the General, waving his hand to Teju Okio. The Jap boy threw in his clutch, the General's head went back, and they were off for Nischon.

"There is some mystery here," said Nick, watching the car thoughtfully until it was gone from sight.

"Who is Marbosa?" I asked.

"He is the recognized leader of the nobles of Bharbazonia and a great friend of the General's. He is about Palmora's age, but as hot-headed and impetuous as a youth."

It was too fine a day to be indoors, and I suggested that we employ the morning by riding about the country on horseback. Nick forgot the weariness he had offered the General as an excuse for remaining behind and readily assented. The stables were in the rear of the castle and we found them full of the finest horses money could buy. Nick conversed with the stablemen by means of the sign language, remembering his American character, and we were soon upon the road astride the best travellers I have ever seen.

"Wither awa'," I cried gaily as we left the estate, coming into the public road by the porter's lodge and gates which I recognized from the evening before.

"Let us go to Dhalmatia and see how the Prince is this morning," said Nick.

I turned my head to hide the smile. So he, too, was interested in the Prince? I wondered if the General's suspicions had at last awakened in Nick's breast a desire similar to my own, or was it that he wished to improve his acquaintance with the future king?

"On to the lair of the Red Fox," I said.

Nick's estates, I found, were on one side of the road and the Red Fox's on the other. The entrances were at opposite ends and about two miles apart. I remembered that it must have been over this very highway that Nick's father and his friend the General had hurriedly galloped that memorable night twenty years ago drawn by the strange ringing of the natal bell. Our journey was made more decorously, but upon a strangely similar errand as far as I was concerned.

The castle on the hill was visible from the road. Although it stood bathed in sunlight in the clearing high above the woodland, it retained all its sombreness. And the General's remarks came back to me with renewed force. Had I been alone I might have turned back.

No one came forward to take our horses when we dismounted. The silent battlements grinned down upon us as though to warn us away. I held the bridle reins while Nick beat upon the oaken door with the handle of his riding crop.

The butler who answered was the old man who had held the lantern the night before. He resembled his master in grimness of manner and secrecy of method, opening the door slightly and blocking the aperture with his body, as if he suspected we had come to filch the bric-a-brac, or make way with the Prince. As soon as he laid eyes upon us he addressed himself to a task he appeared to relish.

"The master bids me thank you," he said in French, usual in Bharbazonian households because, as I afterward learned, it was the court language, "for the expression of good will which your presence implies; he is sorry that the custom of denying himself to visitors, which has been his for years, compels him to refrain from entertaining you. To Monsieur le Physician, he desires me to say that his son has so far recovered as to make any further calls unnecessary."

The insult took our breath away and we could manage no words to reply.

"I wish you a very good afternoon," said the doorman, gravely. Then he gently but firmly closed the door in our faces.

What little hold Nick retained upon his temper was lost when, in remounting, owing to the restiveness of his horse, he twice missed his stirrup. The animal was one of those high-spirited fellows that show much white around the eye and cannot stand the approach of a rider. Nick made matters worse by belabouring him both with his riding whip and the toe of his boot, so that I had to pull up on the road and wait for him.

I scarcely knew what to make of our unceremonious reception, and could attribute the Duke's action to one of two things. Either as an offspring of Bharbazonia he was mediæval and unused to the polite usages of the present day; or he had something to conceal.

"My respect for the General increases," I said as we rode off together.

"Why?" growled Nick.

"The General knew his man better than we did."

"What makes you say that?"

"He strongly advised me not to visit Dhalmatia, and said the Red Fox would insult us."

"Humph," said Nick, "I wish you had told me. I should not have given him the opportunity."

"Well, after all," I suggested, "the Fox has a right to exclude us if he is so minded. A man's castle is his home, I take it."

"Bharbazonians do not treat each other with such scant courtesy."

"You forget that we are two Americans to him. But even Bharbazonia is known to Baedeker, I suppose."

"Can you, the rejected physician, who yesterday stood ready to treat his son, forgive him so lightly?"

"Assuredly, when I remember that I was also one of the party which contributed to his son's fall."

"You are too good-natured, Dale. I could choke him with pleasure. One of these days when his son is king I shall compel an apology."

By common consent when we reached the highway we turned away from Framkor and rode past the Duke's estate, the length of which was plainly marked by an almost endless hedge. As we came opposite a pretty little summer-house, enclosed in glass and used as a winter conservatory, I caught sight of the prince's face behind the glass. His profile was toward us and, as he was sitting, only his head and shoulders were visible. Not hearing our hoof beats on the soft dirt road he did not look up as we passed. Here was an opportunity of accomplishing our purpose in spite of the Duke. Nothing loath I embraced it.

"If you are minded to talk to the Fox's son before he is king," I exclaimed, indicating the summer-house, "here is your chance."

Seeing the Prince, Nick put his horse to the hedge without a word and I followed. As we struck the ground on the other side, the Prince looked quickly up. He watched us tie our horses to a tree, but made no effort to rise when we burst open the door and unceremoniously entered.

On the threshold we both stopped in surprise, our hostility giving place to embarrassment and a natural consternation. We suddenly found ourselves not, as we expected, in the presence of the Prince, but standing stupidly before a surprised and beautiful young woman. She was about the Prince's age and bore a striking resemblance to him. She had the same sleepy brown eyes. Her hair was of the same titian shade, but it was long and gathered in a soft knot at the back of her head. It was her crowning glory and she wore it without a part after the manner of the French pompadour.

Her dress was one I had not expected to find in Bharbazonia. It was a tailor-made suit of the then fashionable "smoke" colour and beneath her short skirt peeped a pair of patent leather shoes with tops to match the colour of her dress. Could she have been transferred from her summer-house to the Rittenhouse square promenade, she would not have been out of the picture nor have caused comment except for her great beauty.

With well-bred composure she calmly looked from Nick to me without altering her position in her comfortable chair or even lowering her book. Although apparently unmoved, she was alert to our every move, questioning with her glance the reason for our intrusion. Many another girl under similar circumstance might have cried out, but she was neither overcome with feminine modesty nor afraid.

For my part I was conscious of feeling like a small boy caught with a pocketful of stolen apples. Nick must have been afflicted in a like manner, for our hats came off simultaneously, and we bowed as low as the difference in our training would permit.

"We beg your pardon," began Nick, recovering his composure. "We expected to find the Prince here—the resemblance is so wonderful—we beg your pardon."

There was another awkward pause as she waited for him to continue and then, seeing that he had lost his voice, she spoke. I shall never forget the feeling that went through me as I listened to her ringing contralto, full of Homeresque quality, clear as a bell.

"From the manner of your entrance, one would imagine you meant him harm," she said.

Nick's composure forsook him entirely and I came to the rescue. There was nothing timorous about this young woman. She looked me frankly in the face. The subtle charm of her femininity came to me with the odour of the surrounding flowers and took a firm grasp upon my heart.

"We are just come from the castle," I hastened to say, "where we sought to inquire after the health of the Prince. The Duke turned us from the door."

"And may I inquire who you are?"

"I am Dr. Dale Wharton and this is Mr. Nicholas Fremsted."

She returned the compliment.

"I am Solonika, the Prince's sister," she replied.

We both bowed again like two automatons controlled by the same string.

"I see that you are not English," she added.

"No," Nick replied quickly as if he were not sure of my answer, "we are both Americans."

"So?" she said, looking at Nick as if she were trying to place him in her memory. Her quizzical expression reminded me of the Prince when he had watched Nick in the same manner.

"Now that we have been introduced most properly," she continued with the shadow of a smile, "perhaps you will sit down and have tea with me. Perhaps also I may make amends for my father's seeming lack of hospitality."

"Therese," she called to a French maid who promptly emerged from behind a Japanese screen in the rear of the room, "chairs for the gentlemen."

While Nick engaged the Princess in conversation I had opportunity to examine the summer-house. It has always been my belief that one reveals character in the arrangement and decoration of one's favourite rooms. The little den had the atmosphere of a college man's smoking room, except for the flowers that were banked high at the windows which formed the wall of the summer-house on the side toward the road. Here and there convenient openings were left for a view of the highway. If the Princess had fitted up this lounging place out of a feeling of monotony which remote living in the castle brought her, she succeeded admirably in arriving at privacy and at the same time avoiding loneliness.

The other three walls were done in dark red burlap richly hung with pictures. Drinking steins of every nation, together with valuable china and porcelain ware, adorned the plate rail around the sides. But what caught my eye was a lifesize, full-length picture of Solonika herself dressed in the bright-coloured garb of a Bharbazonian peasant girl, poised upon the tips of her dainty toes in the midst of a native dance. Close beside it was another canvas of the Prince in the pure white finery of a most gorgeous court costume, covered with lace and furbelows sufficient to arouse the envy of a French king.

In one corner was an artist's easel on which stood a half finished landscape of the King's Highway, showing the Turk's Head Inn in the foreground. The room was neither masculine nor feminine and I was at a loss to find a reason for the presence of a large copy of Wehr-Schmidt's painting of "Down Among the Dead Men," which occupied the entire rear wall, unless it might be that the Prince also had a hand in the decorations. Else why should such prominence be given a scene in which a number of reckless swordsmen were forcing a frightened clergyman to drink an abhorred health, singing as they threatened him with their levelled points:

"And he who will this health deny,

Down among the dead men let him lie."

Therese, the maid, was serving the tea when I came back from my mental wandering and began to take an interest in the conversation.

"Brother is much better this morning," the Princess was saying. "Father has difficulty in keeping him in bed. Although his arm is still painful, he is a lively youth and hard to keep down."

"He will not suffer any further inconvenience from his fall?" asked Nick.

"None whatever. After all, it was his own fault. He sometimes is such a careless rider. When the colt reared at sight of your conveyance, Raoul says he made the mistake of pulling him back. The sight of your car was so unexpected; I suppose he was as much surprised as the horse. Think of it! An automobile in Bharbazonia!"

She threw back her head and laughed heartily at the thought, and we could do nothing else but laugh with her. The charm of the girl was contagious and we forgot the Duke's unpleasantness.

"Why, it was only a week ago they burned a witch at the stake for some offence against the Church. I was not a bit sorry when I heard it, for she was the one who prophesied that Raoul would never be King of Bharbazonia—and behold along comes this automobile, chug-chugging through the middle ages almost making that prophecy come true. We are growing modern."

"Dear old Bharbazonia," sighed Nick, off his guard for the moment.

The Princess heard the remark, and I saw her compare my own blond head with Nick's black curls, while the puzzled look returned.

"Dear old Bharbazonia," was all she said, but I fancied her interest in him increased from that moment. It was the call of the blood.

"Do you know Bharbazonia?" she asked him later.

He admitted that he had visited the country on different occasions, always as the guest of General Palmora.

"On one of my trips I had the pleasure of meeting the Prince at Nischon. He was visiting his uncle the King."

"Ah," she said, "I thought so."

She nodded her head several times as if his remark explained many things.

"But I never had the pleasure of meeting you before," he added.

"I have seen you," she hastened to say. "If I remember correctly that was four years ago. You and the General rode by these windows frequently on that occasion. That was the year the Grand Duke of Framkor died."

Nick made no reply at this mention of his father's name. And, if she were trying to discover his identity under directions from her suspicious father, she made nothing out of him.

"I suppose, if one could trace it back, I should be found to be a relation of his," he said. "My family is Russian. I was born in St. Petersburg and later became a world wanderer and finally an American. Dale and I were chums at the University of Pennsylvania in Philadelphia."

"Friends," she mused. "I have always been interested in friendship. I never had a friend."

"You have had no opportunity, living here all your life."

"Oh, but I have been away to school. I have met those there whom I would have called friends, but father you know is a curious man, and I cannot have them visit me here."

"You have missed a great deal in life," said Nick.

"Have I?" she laughed. "I do not think so. Friendship between men is not lasting. I wonder if a woman could not loosen the bonds of affection between you two at any time she chose?"

"I doubt it," said Nick, staunchly.

"I have often wondered what would happen if a woman had come between David and Jonathan, or Damon and Pythias or any of the famous chums of history," she said.

"A woman is only a woman," said Nick with a smile, "but the world holds nothing so dear as the friends one makes in youth and cleaves to until the end. I do not think the woman lives who could part Dale and me."

"Don't be too sure," she smiled back between half closed eyes.

It was almost dark when we arose to take our leave after a most pleasant afternoon. Nick, true to his Bharbazonian instinct, made his leave-taking consist of a sweeping bow, but I put out my hand in American fashion.

"Good-bye, your Highness," I said, "I trust that we will see you soon again."

She hesitated for the fraction of a second before extending her hand. Perhaps she was not familiar with hand-shaking as a leave-taking habit. For the first time during the afternoon she seemed timid. When I released her hand the arm fell to her side. "Oh!" she exclaimed as if in pain, although I could have sworn that I had not used more strength in my leave-taking than one would with a Dresden doll.

But, when I reached the door and bowed myself across the threshold, she was standing by her chair smiling brightly.

"Good-bye," she said, "I have had such a pleasant afternoon. Please do not cherish resentment and come to the castle. The Prince and I will be glad to see you both. I shall tell father he must apologize."

She came to the door and watched us mount and put our horses over the hedge. We both waved our hands to her as the bend in the road shut her from view.

It wasn't until we turned in at Framkor gate that a possible explanation of the significance of Solonika's suppressed cry of pain came home to me and I exclaimed aloud:

"It was the right arm of the Prince that was dislocated!"

"Well," said Nick, "and what of that?"

CHAPTER VII

THE STORY OF THE SACRILEGE

The nimble lie

Is like the second hand upon a clock;

We see it fly; while the hour hand of truth

Seems to stand still, and yet it moves unseen,

And wins, at last, for the clock will not strike

Till it has reached the goal.

—Longfellow: Michael Angelo.

Nicholas and I were not good company for each other that evening. The General, we found, had not returned from Nischon and we ate our evening meal in silence. After dinner we repaired to the smoking room, there to follow out our musings each in his own way.

Nick, with his elbows on his armchair and his chin resting on his interlaced hands, watched the fire leaping and dancing among the burning chestnut logs until, moved by its magnetic influence, he drifted away on the wings of reverie, leaving "the world and all" far behind. Once he spoke aloud, oblivious of my presence.

"What a magnificent creature she has grown to be," he said.

My thoughts also were of the Princess Solonika, but they did not dwell upon her remarkable beauty. They had a totally different trend. I carefully went over the events of the afternoon and the poison of suspicion, implanted in my mind by the vague words of the General, gave colour to everything I had noticed in the summer-house. Nick's steady refusal to countenance the idea had lulled me into the belief that the General was visionary; but the incident of my leave-taking from Solonika brought me up with a sharp turn.

It seemed impossible to imagine that any such masquerade as the General implied could exist these twenty years undiscovered, and, for its successful fulfilment, go on existing thereafter for an indefinite period. I realized, of course, that this was an Anglo-Saxon point of view. In a civilized country with its freedom of intercourse, its newspapers and reporters in search of sensations, its international social life moving always in the limelight of publicity, such an extremely grotesque secret would soon be dragged from hiding and held up to public ridicule. But this was not America. This was barbaric Bharbazonia. Here, shut up in a well protected castle, cut off from the world, hidden from prying eyes by the might of power, anything were possible.

Just what did I suspect? I scarcely knew and I experienced difficulty in making my mind contemplate a proposition so absurd. Why should I not continue to believe that the Prince was the Prince and that Solonika was Solonika? But two other hypotheses forced themselves upon me. Suppose, I said to myself, that on that eventful night, when the bell of Dhalmatia announced the birth of twins, only a daughter had been born. What would the Duke, controlled by an overmastering desire to wrest the succession of the throne from his heirless brother, have done in his despair and excitement?

I had seen the Red Fox and knew that the keynote of his character was craftiness. On the spur of the moment, given no time to consider what suffering his action might entail upon the newborn babe, he would have dashed upon the rope in a frenzy and tolled the bell a second time declaring the advent of a son. Perhaps during the long months of waiting he had planned some such deception should the fates go against him. The truthful nurse, unaware of his desire, had complicated matters and had paid the penalty for her lack of wisdom.

After his rash act, as the Fox sat down to think, gloating over King Gregory's chagrin when he heard the news, he would find two courses open to him. He must either adopt a boy to take the place of the Prince who was not, or he might bring up his daughter to assume the rôle of both Prince and Princess.

Well pleased with my theory I began to test it and found to my delight that it satisfactorily explained many things. If the girl and boy were one, the remarkable physical resemblance would be natural and the expression of pain on Solonika's face when I shook her hand would be explained. What would be more natural than the Duke's action in denying his castle to visitors? When Nick and I called that morning he could not let us in to see the Prince because Solonika was in the summer-house!

Then Doubt came knocking at my door. After all, the Red Fox might have been discourteous to us because we were the avowed friends of his enemy, General Palmora. Under the circumstances I could not blame him for what he did. And had he not explained everything when he declared the birth of twins? It is not unusual for twins to look alike.

"But," whispered Suspicion in my ear, "how about Solonika's half suppressed cry of pain?"

Here was I back to my starting point. It was too baffling a problem for one man to solve. I felt that I needed help; some one who might shed more light upon the subject, and I turned to Nick. He had never taken any stock in the General's talk, and always ridiculed the efforts I made to point out that which I believed lent colour to Palmora's suspicions. That he had some reason for his faith was evident, and I determined to risk his displeasure to learn it.

"Nick," I said, startling him out of his dreams by sitting beside him on the arm of his chair and putting my elbow under his head, "have you ever been able to learn what the General suspects about the Red Fox and the succession?"

"Did you ever talk with a brighter woman in your life, Dale?" he replied.

"Solonika?"

He nodded. Here was the same old susceptible boy, who indiscriminately decorated our rooms at college with pictures of chorus girls, or leading women, who temporarily queened it over his fickle fancy and who faded away into the forgetful mist of passing years. Was he never going to grow up, I wondered.

"She's pretty enough," I replied, "but I wish you would answer my question."

"Pretty enough," he echoed. "Oh, you stone man. When a woman like Solonika cannot make your heart beat faster, I begin to despair for you."

I did not tell him how much the Princess had interested me, and that it was the light of sadness deep down in her eyes, which had escaped him, that made me wish to clear up the mystery and help her if I could. If she were a masquerader what a terrible life she had before her. I pitied her.

"Surely," I said, "the good General had some serious reason for bringing you back."

"Serious he may think it," said Nick, "but I see no reason for coupling my return with the General's suspicions of Dhalmatia. I think, from what I saw this morning, that Duke Marbosa had more to do with it."

"I suppose you would not entertain the thought for a moment that the Prince and the Princess were the same person?"

Nick looked at me as if I were suddenly become a madman. Then he threw back his head and laughed so loud and long that I, feeling uncomfortably small, shook him to make him stop. His answer I thought most curious.

"Great heavens, Dale, this is Bharbazonia."

"All the more reason for believing it possible," I retorted.

He laughed again.

"Oh, no," he said, "you have reckoned without the Church."

"Come now, Nick, answer me straight. Cease talking in riddles. What has the Church got to do with it?"

Nick suddenly became sober. He saw that I was serious, and addressed himself to the task of enlightening me.

"Listen, Dale," he began, like one entering into a long argument, "I will tell you all about it and when I am through you must accept what I say as final and forget these romantic American notions of yours. The Greek church of Bharbazonia has everything to do with it. To begin with, for the sake of argument, we will admit that the General and you are right—the Prince and the Princess are one, and that one is a woman. I believe that is your theory?"

"Go on," I said, nodding.

"Now, do you know what that would entail?"

"The woman's life would be a hell on earth, I suppose."

"It would mean death if she were ever detected," said Nick, solemnly.

This was going farther than I expected. I looked at Nick, but his face was immovable. He was not joking.

"Yes, but how? Why?" I exclaimed.

"In the first place the clergy in this country, as in many other European lands, stand before the nobles in power. The king, the nobles and the peasantry are all subject to their will. Here, church and state are not divorced as they are in France and America."

"But how would Solonika come within the power of the Church? Why should it wish to harm her?"

"Every coronation service, like marriage, is a deeply religious ceremony," Nick continued steadily. "As you know, it takes place in the Cathedral at Nischon. It is conducted by the Patriarch, the front of the Greek Catholic Church of Bharbazonia. When this woman, who in your fancy is masquerading as the Prince, takes the oath of office, becoming at once the head of the Church and the ruler of the kingdom, she must ascend the altar and stand within the Holy of Holies, where it is a sacrilege for a woman to go!"

"Good heavens," I exclaimed, rising to my feet in consternation. Nick smiled at the effect of his words and continued:

"Granting that the Red Fox of Dhalmatia would go to great lengths to procure the throne, do you think that any father would take such risks? Do you think that a woman like Solonika would affront her religion for the sake of being king? You may trifle with the superstitious beliefs of the highly civilized, if they have any, but you cannot play tricks with the primitive. The populace of Bharbazonia, if they ever found her out, though she be king, would rend her limb from limb, urged on by the religious frenzy of the outraged priesthood. Are you answered?"

"I am answered," I replied.

But Nick was not satisfied that he had convinced me.

"I will tell you this, Dale," he added, earnestly. "If Solonika committed such a sacrilege against my Church and her people, I, a Bharbazonian, might forget my Occidental cultivation, and, though I might love her, would strangle her to death with these two hands."

He stretched his hands toward me and crushed his fingers together over an imaginary throat. I watched him fascinated; here was a new Nicholas and one that I did not like. I was not so sure that David knew the innermost secrets of Jonathan's heart.

"So, that is Bharbazonia," I said.

He detected the detraction in my voice, and came to the defence of his Fatherland.

"Yes, that is Bharbazonia," he replied. "And can you expect more of a people who have suffered as we have from the persecution of the merciless Turks? There is nothing gentle, nothing refining in the traditions behind us. Do you know what it means to come home and find the body of your wife, nude and desecrated, lying in its blood in the doorway of your once happy, happy home? Do you know what it means to the stunted mental growth of a community to have its little earnings taken for taxes for the support of luxurious Mohammedan harems, when its children are without schools? And can the religion of a country be more enlightened than its followers? Do not blame Bharbazonia for what she is. She is crushed, she is broken, she is bleeding; but she lives."

"With your education and training, Nick, why do you not take a leading part in helping your own country? You love your fellows, I know."

"Oh, if I had the power; if I were only king in Bharbazonia; what would I not do? I would ask nothing better for my life work, but, as it is, I am doing the next best thing, not alone for my country but also for the entire Balkans, in furthering the work of the Order of the Cross against the power of the Crescent."

The noise of the engine along the driveway announced the return of the General in the car. He came bounding into the room like a boy, full of his trip to the capital and the magnificent preparations for the coronation.

"I met a certain young woman who was much disappointed because you had not come, Nicholas," said he.

"Who was she?" asked Nick.

"The Princess Teskla."

"I trust you gave her my best regards."

"I did. And further, I promised not to return to the Palace until I brought you."

From the General's manner I judged that Nicholas and the king's daughter were very good friends, and that the General was more than pleased. He became so enthusiastic in recounting the charms of the young lady that I began to suspect him of being a matchmaker. Nick had spent much of his time at the palace after his father died four years ago, but had not seen the Princess since. He corresponded with her in his desultory fashion, and I smiled as I recalled how letter writing languished with him. The General, in his rôle of Cupid, let fly dart after dart from his quiver.

"Do you know, my son," he insinuated, "I think Teskla is in love with you?"

"Think so, Godfather?" said Nick, shrugging his shoulders.

"A splendid girl, sir; a splendid girl I believe."

But Nick abruptly changed the subject.

"You promised to tell me why Grand Duke Marbosa was so interested in my return," he said.

"You are referring to his messenger of this morning?" replied Palmora, becoming again the diplomat and statesman.

Nick nodded.

"The Duke is anxious to enroll you with the rest of the nobles under his leadership in opposition to the Red Fox's son. He is planning something desperate, I feel sure. He will not be frank with me. But I know that he will strike before the coronation."

"What have I to do with Marbosa and the nobles of Bharbazonia?" said Nick. "The Order is not interested, is it?"

"He has not gone as far as to make our Bharbazonian succession an international affair. He would not dare."

The talk drifted aimlessly, I thought, upon the poverty of the people and their lack of education; Marbosa's stern patriotism and his willingness to shed blood for the good of his country; the General's opposition to Marbosa in favor of peace. I ceased to follow their discussion until I heard the General say:

"Nicholas, I desire to tell you a story."

"But you cannot convince me, General," said Nick. "I think Marbosa is right. He has the good of Bharbazonia at heart."

"I believe he has," said the General. "But listen. There once was a high minded man who was a descendant of a long line of kings. His ancestors, for centuries, had not lived in their Fatherland since it fell into the hands of a conquering host from another country. Many of them, leading ineffectual armies of restoration, were killed; and private assassins in the pay of the conquerors murdered any member of the royal family they could find even in exile. To prevent his enemies from killing him, this king, as his father and grandfather before him had done, assumed a fictitious name and went into a far country. There, like any other man, he worked, dreaming of the time when he should come into his own, hoping against hope.

"So completely did he hide himself, that he rarely received news of his home. But one day he learned that the land was free and that his countrymen, deeming the last of their kings dead, had placed a noble upon the throne and thus established another royal family.

"He came back to his Fatherland intent upon proclaiming himself. Through all the years he had carefully preserved the proofs of his identity, and he had no difficulty in convincing a few of the nobles whom he took into his confidence that he was the king. They were intent upon a revolution; but the fame of the present ruler was great; he had been a wonderful soldier in the battles for freedom and the people loved him. The fight which would follow must disrupt the Fatherland, still suffering under the poverty and vice of the years of bondage. An internal quarrel would have destroyed it.

"The king was a great man, greater than the world knew. He restrained his friends in their efforts to win the throne for him. He refused to take it, holding that what his beloved country needed most of all was peace—peace to bind up its wounds and win prosperity and happiness. His friends urged him, but he remained firm. He went away and never pressed his claim. Love of country with him was greater than love for a throne.

"Later he married and a son was born to him. Then his heart misgave him. Had he done well to rob the boy of his birthright? The thought troubled him. Yet he remained true to his better impulses, and still held that his country needed peace. He sought out the oldest friend he had in the county, a man of considerable influence who was in sympathy with the great sacrifice his liege lord was making.

"'Although I have given up my throne,' he said, 'I want my boy some day to reign. The time may come after I am dead when you may see a way to give him his own again without injury to the Fatherland. When that time comes, old friend, will you do it?'

"'I will,' said the friend.

"'The youth is impetuous. He may not be able to see the right as I have seen it. He may not be able to control his selfish motives as I have done. Therefore do you keep my secret from him. But, if the boy wax strong and is able to follow the right course, you may tell him the truth. Until that time shall come keep the secret from him, for the love you bear me and our Fatherland.'"

In this world, where one sees so much of sordidness, it was refreshing to hear the General tell of an action so high-minded as to be almost beyond belief. I liked to feel that such things still existed.

"I have told this story often to Duke Marbosa. But he is not impressed," continued the General. "The Red Fox's leanings toward the Turk are, to Marbosa, like the red flag before the eyes of a bull. He does not like Prince Raoul's father and in that I cannot blame him. But I cannot make him see that Bharbazonia needs peace just now. What do you think, Nicholas?"

"I am rather in sympathy with Marbosa, Godfather," said Nick.

The General was watching Nick closely, his eyes half concealed beneath his bushy eyebrows. A look of disappointment passed over his face at the answer. He said something half to himself, which I did not clearly catch. It sounded like "The time is not yet," but I could not be sure.

"You are very young, my son," he said aloud, "and the Duke of Marbosa is old enough to know better."

Both of them relapsed into the Bharbazonian speech and I went off to bed alone. I do not know what time Nick came in, but I was aroused a little by hearing the General calling across the hallway from his own room:

"Now, remember, son, we meet at the Turk's Head Inn. It is important that you be there, for I believe we will make history to-morrow. So, do not oversleep."

CHAPTER VIII

THE TWINS OF DHALMATIA

The flying rumours father'd as they rolled,

Scarce any tale was sooner heard than told;

And all who told it added something new,

And all who heard it made enlargements too;

In every ear it spread, on every tongue it grew.

—Pope: Temple of Fame.

When I awoke the next morning Nick's side of the bed was empty. In answer to my ring the butler served breakfast in my room. Mr. Nicholas and General Palmora he said had eaten before dawn and gone out in the wonderful machine, leaving word that they would return for dinner in the evening. He knew not where they had gone. For once in my life I was thankful I knew French, else I might have starved.

There was no reason why I should arise, so I lay in bed thinking of this curious country, trying to imagine what secret business would have caused Nick to leave me without explanation. The face of Solonika came repeatedly uppermost in my thoughts. Could one so beautiful, so gentle, so feminine, be a party to such a terrible deception as my fanciful suspicions made necessary for her? Those steadfast, honest eyes could not belong to one who carried within her breast a secret so grave.

Nicholas's talk of sacrilege opened a new line of conjecture. If the Red Fox were playing so huge a joke upon his countrymen, he was laughing in the face of a danger most appalling. I had seen him once and I knew that he was crafty. If his ambition were equal to it, he might not hesitate even at sacrilege. The very danger might add zest.

Always there recurred to me the memory of Solonika's pain when I took her hand. Here I was travelling in my endless circle. If I could go over to Dhalmatia and see the Prince and Princess together all doubts would be at rest. This vain pursuit of garbled rumour, garnished and re-garnished in the telling, was worse than useless.

Time hung heavily on my hands during the morning. Castle Framkor seemed deserted without Nicholas and the General. By lunch time my loneliness became unbearable and I went for a walk. Subconsciously my feet carried me toward Dhalmatia, and I came out of my musings on the steps of the summer-house.

No one answered my knock and I could see through the glass partitions that the cosy den was vacant. Should I go to the castle? I took to the driveway, but, when I emerged from the trees and came in sight of the turrets, my resolution failed me. I remembered the Red Fox's discourteous treatment and did not care to brave the animal in his lair. I retreated to the steps of the summer-house and sat down to think.

To be sure Solonika had invited us to renew our visit. She had promised to have an interview with her father, and from her assurance she led us to believe that she could not fail. Doubtless if I knocked at the castle door I would be admitted, but I could not forget my pride. On the other hand, if I did not go to Dhalmatia, how was I to solve the mystery which was baffling me? How was I to see the Prince and Princess together?

"Please, sir," said a woman's voice at my elbow, "the mistress desires to see you at the castle."

It was Therese, the maid. Solonika had seen me a moment before standing in full view of the castle; had watched my retreat, and guessed the cause. Opportunity lay ready to my hand.

"Thank you; I will go," I said.

"To the porte-cochère, and knock upon the door," she said, as she vanished behind the summer-house.

Evidently the persuasive Solonika had been at work and won her expected victory, for the grim, old butler smiled graciously and bade me enter.

"Would Monsieur the physician desire to see the Prince?" he asked.

Somewhere in the castle the Princess was waiting, expecting my coming. Why not first see the Prince and then call upon her? Thus might I satisfy my great desire without arousing suspicion.

"Yes, I would see the Prince," I answered.

The old man bent his back in a half bow and smilingly led me with all the dignity and speed of a turtle to the Prince's quarters, which fortunately were but a short distance from the reception hall. If the ways of those who love the darkness are evil, the Red Fox's ways must certainly be evil, for the interior of his castle was very dark. The windows were screened with heavy curtains, permitting little daylight to enter. My eyes, fresh from the sunlight, had to become accustomed to the lack of light before I could see my way about. I hung close upon the heels of my slow guide until he paused in a doorway and announced in a stately manner:

"Monsieur le doctaire for the Prince."

There was the sound of a chair being moved back as if some one arose. I bowed upon the threshold, looking swiftly about. The Duke and the Prince were before me, but Solonika was nowhere to be seen. The Duke was standing beside a table acknowledging my bow. He was dressed in the same quaint manner as when I had seen him two days before.

His son, the Prince, remained seated on the opposite side of the table. His back was toward me, and he did not turn. He was attired in a long, full-skirted coat of black, black knee breeches with buckles at the knee, black silk stockings and silver-buckled, low black shoes. Leaning against the arm of his high-backed carved chair was his sword. It had evidently been uncomfortable, and was laid aside belt and all. The Prince's right arm was in a sling.

The two had been interested in a game of cards when I interrupted them. Judging from the formation of the pasteboards upon the green cloth, they were playing "double solitaire," that paradoxical game for one which two or three can play. It is also one of the few games of cards which can be played with one hand.

The Duke placed a chair at the table beside him and waved me into it with a gracious smile. When I was seated, the Prince ceased scanning the cards on the table and looked at me as one would at a stranger. He was so like Solonika, and yet acted so unlike her, that I was uncomfortable.

"Raoul, permit me to present Dr. Wharton who took such good care of you when you were thrown," said the Duke in London English.

The young man and I nodded coldly. Above all things I desired to hear his voice.

"Do not permit me to interrupt the game," I said, lightly, but it was the Duke who replied.

"I am more than pleased to see you, Dr. Wharton, if only to extend my apologies for the affair of yesterday. Servants make sad mistakes sometimes."

Servants and Grand Dukes were somewhat alike in that respect, I thought, but I ventured no remark.

"When you were gone, I gave orders to Dajerak, the butler, never to permit General Palmora to enter this house again. He understood it to apply to the General's party. I did not know of his action until my daughter told me of it."

So Solonika had kept her promise to give the old gentleman a talking to. I was secretly amused at the hard work the Fox was making of it.

"I am pleased you overlooked my boorishness and returned," he concluded.

"It is nothing," I assured him.

"We have few visitors at Dhalmatia," he sighed, "and we would be most happy to entertain you and that other—American."

Was there just the shadow of a pause mere and a slight narrowing about the eyelids as he said this? Solonika's efforts were not confined alone to me. She desired to have the handsome Nicholas call upon her as well.

"Perhaps, in your professional capacity, you will look at the Prince's wounds," he said.

"If the Prince has no objections," I said.

He was idly toying with his cards, listening with a half smile to the conversation. When I pointedly addressed him he looked straight at me with Solonika's eyes. My heart thumped against my ribs, but, when he spoke in a voice like, yet unlike, his sister's, and in halting broken English where hers had run smoothly, the illusion was spoiled, and I was more than half convinced that my quest was a fool's errand.

"I have objections," he said, drawing away.

The Prince, I could see, still suffered considerable pain when he moved his right arm, which was to be expected. The slight contusions on the head were healing nicely; and the Duke said that no complications or internal injuries showed signs of developing.

"Your son will suffer no inconvenience at the coronation," I said in reply to the Duke's anxious question. "He will be entirely recovered by that time, I should think, if he remains perfectly quiet."

"You hear, Raoul, you must not run about so much," cried the father.

"I hear," said the boy, with one of Solonika's brightest smiles.

The Duke, seeing that the Prince replied only in monosyllables, became talkative. He could not do enough for me. He served his best wines and insisted that I accept several packages of his Turkish cigarettes, because I happened to praise them. The Prince so far unbent as to accept a light for his cigarette from my hand. As the blue rings ascended we became more sociable, and I ventured to ask why the Duke disliked the General, a character whom I thought all men should admire.

"Palmora," said the Duke, affably, "belongs to the Old Party of Bharbazonia. In fact he and the Duke of Marbosa are its leaders. They believe that the safety and future of the Balkans lie in the aid which Russia can give. Of course they are not blind to the fact that their benefactor is acting from a selfish motive; that, year by year, Russia wrests principality after principality from the Turkish domain so that one day she may absorb the city of Constantinople and so gain control of the Bosphorus and a southern way to the sea. But they do not seem to understand that when that day comes Russia will also absorb the little kingdoms she has set up as her cats-paws to pull her chestnuts from the fire.

"That will be a sad day for Bharbazonia. I do not look to Russia for future peace and prosperity, but rather do I reach out toward a Germo-Austrian alliance. And there is where the Old Party and the New Party find their point of difference. In attempting to break down what little influence I had with the people they tell them I have 'Turkish tendencies,' but that is not true."

It flashed through my mind, as I compared the General's statements with the Duke's, that there were two sides to the shield. Perhaps there was something to admire in the Fox after all.

"But the rock upon which we split is the Church," continued the Duke. "Russia is of our religion—the Greek Church—while Germany and Hungary are Lutheran and Roman Catholic. I can assure you, Dr. Wharton, that the Church Patriarch of Bharbazonia does not look with favour upon the ascension of my son to the throne. Rest assured he would do anything in his power to prevent it. Hence you understand why I remain within my castle, seeing no one and being seen by few. But you, sir, are a foreigner, an American; it does me good to speak with you."

He led me on to talk of the United States, its wealth, resources and activities. Even the Prince showed signs of interest at my description of the Great American game of baseball. He said he was familiar with cricket, having seen it played in England when he was at school. Fox-hunting was not new; although boar-hunting was the Bharbazonian pastime. Would I care to go boar-hunting some time with him? I expressed my delight. He would be happy to have me and also my friend Fremsted join his party in the last hunt he would have before he was crowned.

I told him that I would broach the matter to Nicholas, but that I knew he would gladly accompany the expedition. Would the Princess be of the party?

"Oh, no," exclaimed the Prince, "women do not hunt the boar. It is much too dangerous."

During this conversation with the Duke and his son I had not forgotten the real purpose of my visit. If I did not permit myself to be put off with subterfuge, now was the time to have the laugh on the General. I remembered, too, that somewhere in the castle Solonika was waiting, expecting Therese to bring me to her. "Faint heart ne'er won fair lady," I thought and I boldly attacked the citadel.

"I should like very much to see your daughter, sir," I said as innocently as I could. I was watching them closely when I spoke. Not a movement escaped me. But, if I expected any hesitation or other evidence that I had trapped them, I was disappointed. There was no quick look between them; not even the lifting of an eyebrow. Had my request been the most ordinary in the world they could not have acted more naturally.

"Raoul, where is your sister now?" said the Duke.

"In her apartment, I think," he replied.

"Do not disturb her," I said, to see if they would accept a loophole of escape.

"Not at all," returned the Red Fox, "Dajerak will escort you. She would be disappointed at not seeing you."

In the Bharbazonian dialect he gave the butler the necessary orders and I arose to follow him.

"We will await your return here," said the Duke.

At the Prince's doorway we turned from the main entrance and continued into the heart of the castle through darkened corridors. We were going to the other side of the building, as far as I could judge. From the number of rooms and archways we passed I fancied that the Princess lived a long way from the Prince.

Why she wished to seclude herself from the family I could not imagine. Perhaps my conception of distance was lengthened by the lack of haste on the part of my guide. Old Dajerak plodded along at his top speed, which would not have caused a competing snail the least inconvenience, and at last knocked upon a panelled door. Therese's voice bade us enter.

"Mistress is expecting you," she said as she took my card, and disappeared through a far door to announce me. Dajerak bowed and retired, and I listened to his footsteps dragging over the velvet carpets.

Solonika's reception parlor was totally different from her den in the summer-house. It was strictly a French room of the Empire period. Red satin, hand-painted chairs and rococo furniture, heavy and shining with gilt, gave the prevailing note of elegance. The high walls were decorated with priceless gobelin tapestries and overhead hung two glass pendent chandeliers.

I found myself trembling with suppressed excitement. Here was I upon the eve of a discovery. If there were only one child, that one was now seated at the far end of the castle playing cards with his father. But perhaps, after a show of searching for the other, Therese would reluctantly bring back word that Solonika was out, or indisposed. If, on the other hand, there were two children Solonika would see me.

The maid was scarcely gone a minute when she returned with my card still in her hand. The Princess was out, then?

"Mademoiselle bids you enter, monsieur," she said with a bow and a smile.

My heart leaped as I made ready to follow. She led me into a cosy little dressing room. There, quietly sewing on some fancy needlework beside the window, sat Solonika.

In her pale blue, loose-fitting house gown, lazily dangling one fairy-like slipper from one tiny foot crossed above the other, she looked more beautiful than ever. It takes laces and loose things to bring out a woman's femininity. She was looking up at me laughingly, mockingly I thought. My feelings overcame me for the moment and I found no words to greet her.

"Ah, Dr. Wharton," she cried gaily, "welcome to my little boudoir. You must pardon the informality. But I found myself too lazy to dress when Therese brought your card."

Her pure, perfect English fell upon my ear in marked contrast with the heavy halting phrases of the Prince's. Could this be the girl, so light hearted and happy, whom I accused in my thoughts of contemplating a terrible sacrilege against her church? No, no, no! I was content; aye even happy to find that I was mistaken. But a moment ago I had seen the Prince on the other side of the Castle, and now I saw her here before me calmly sewing. General Palmora was a fool. I could only stare at her, my joy shining from my eyes.

"Come, come, Dr. Wharton," she laughed, "have you lost your tongue? Sit down and tell me what you have been doing since last we met."

"I am so glad," I said, "so happy at finding you here."

"Why," she laughed, "where did you expect to find me?"

"No, no," I said, "it's not that. I didn't expect to find you anywhere—" I paused fearing that I was making a bungle.

"Perhaps I should not have let you come here," she said, the smile fading. "But somehow I cannot make a stranger of you. I seem to have known you a long time. But if you prefer that I entertain you in the drawing room—"

"Please do not," I hastened to say. "I like it very well here."

"You were a long time coming," she pouted.

"Yes," I said, "the butler took me into the Prince's apartments instead of yours, and your father talked me to death."

Even while the Princess laughed at my expression I fancied I heard the sound of a cough. Could it be that the Duke himself was listening behind one of the many doors? I must be more guarded in my conversation. Then again, a man's imagination will play him many tricks in a strange castle.

"He apologized, did he not?" asked the girl.

"Handsomely," I said.

"What did the Prince have to say?"

"Nothing much. He is so different from you."

"Is that so? Most people find us very much alike."

"In appearance, yes. But not in dispositions. I think I should know you were you even in his clothes."

"Do you?" said she. "Some day I shall put them on and try you."

"I wish you would," I said. "You will see that you cannot fool me."

"Where is your Jonathan to-day, David?" she asked.

"Nicholas? He went off somewhere with General Palmora. Perhaps to Nischon to see Princess Teskla. The General is quite a match-maker. I verily believe he would like to see Nick married to that young woman."

"You interest me. But since when did Americans hope to mate with Princesses of the blood?"

"But Nick—" I began—and checked myself just in time. Then another thought struck me and perhaps came to the surface in the look which I gave her. "Americans never hope to mate with Princesses of the blood. They mate with the woman they love. If she happens to be a princess, that is her misfortune, not his fault."

"The woman they love," she echoed, turning the phrase over in her mind. Then she flew away on a new tack. "Have you ever met Princess Teskla?"

"No, but I expect to, shortly."

"The Prince will be interested to hear this," she said. "Do you know, the king, her father, is most anxious to marry his daughter to Raoul?"

"Why, they are first cousins!"

"True, but that makes no difference in marriages of state. His object is to unite the two houses and keep the throne in his own. When he made Raoul and me Prince and Princess he had that in his mind, I do believe, for he did nothing for his own brother, my father. Does Teskla favour this friend of yours?"

"I cannot say as to that, never having seen them. But Nick has known her for a number of years."

"Raoul will be pleased, for he detests her."

Therese brought the tea and we chatted away with our small talk until I remembered that the Duke and the Prince were awaiting my return. I arose to go.

"When will you be in the summer-house again?" I asked.

"I will be there to-morrow afternoon," she replied. "Will you come?"

"Yes," I almost whispered, and she dropped her gaze before mine.

Therese acted as guide on the return trip and the way did not seem so long, following her light steps. The Prince and the Duke were still seated at the table engaged in their game of cards. While I made my adieus the young man, who looked so much like Solonika that I could not forbear staring at him, lit his cigarette with his uninjured hand and returned my stare coldly, almost insolently. His face was wreathed in smoke as it curled gently upward and vanished in the air.

"Do not forget my invitation to the hunt," he said in his bad English. Once more I remarked the great contrast.

"We will be glad to see you soon again," said the Red Fox. His smile was positively warming. If he had been a victorious commander surveying the wreck his guns had wrought, he could not have appeared more genial.

I thanked them both and found my way to the open air with my illusions gone. How silently and swiftly had my house of cards come tumbling about my head. I thought of Solonika, and Nick's fingers coiling about an imaginary throat, and I was glad; oh, I was glad to find myself mistaken.

CHAPTER IX

THE KISS IN THE KING'S GARDEN

O, that a man might know

The end of this day's business, ere it come!

But it sufficeth that the day will end,

And then the end is known.

—Shakespeare: Julius Cæsar.

Nick and the General were not returned when I reached Framkor Castle, but they came puffing in for dinner on schedule time. Where they had been they did not divulge, nor did I question them, feeling that their rapid comings and goings had to do with the politics of Bharbazonia with which I was not concerned.

"Sorry to have run away from you, Dale," said Nick, "but needs must when the Devil drives." He jerked his head in the General's direction.

"Humph," grunted the General.

"What did you do with yourself all day?" asked Nick.

"I have had an enjoyable time. I've been over to Dhalmatia."

"What?" exclaimed the General.

After his warning to me, I suppose the old fellow imagined I would not care to visit the Red Fox. Neither Nick nor I had told him of the result of our first visit. Had he known that, the storm clouds gathering upon his brow would have been twice as dark.

"Yes," I continued, "and I have seen both the Prince and the Princess, General. The Red Fox was not tricking you when he announced the birth of twins."

Then I told the story of my afternoon as rapidly as possible. But the General was not impressed. The aged, as the homely old expression has it, are frequently "sot in their ways" and I suppose the General had hugged this favourite delusion to his breast so long that he could not let it go. When I was through he remarked dryly:

"Then you did not see the Prince and the Princess together, after all?"

"I did not see them standing side by side," I admitted; "but it was practically the same thing."

"I always told you, General," chimed in Nicholas, "that you were wrong. I agree with Dale, and you might as well surrender as gracefully as possible."

But the General refused to surrender.

"'Tis some trick of the Red Fox," he stoutly maintained, and no amount of argument could move him. He met every advance and escaped every tight corner with the same reply. In his mind Ananias was a truth-teller compared with the Duke of Dhalmatia. We finally dropped the subject, and talked of other matters.

"We are going down to Nischon in the morning, Dale," said Nick. "Do you want to go along?"

"Indeed I do," I replied. I was anxious to see the capital of which I had heard so much and more especially the Cathedral in which the Prince was to be crowned.

Accordingly, when the General awakened us before daylight, I dressed with alacrity. The sun was just rising when we passed Solonika's summer-house, but, early as we were, others were abroad ahead of us. Drawn up on the side of the road, as if to permit us to pass, were six horsemen, muffled up to the eyes in long Spanish cloaks, their spirited horses backing, dancing and rearing as we passed. I could not be sure, but I received the impression that they were not riding forward upon the road, but waiting. One of their number recognized the General and saluted him with a familiar wave of the hand. But the General refused to return the salute. We passed swiftly on.

Although their action was military, the horsemen did not strike me as being soldiers; for one thing they were not dressed in uniform. Perhaps they were a party of young nobles out for a lark. They resembled Duke Marbosa's messenger who had inquired about Nicholas's return. But what could the gentry be doing on the road at such an unearthly hour in the morning?

It was a perfect automobiling day, one of those sunshiny mornings when one is glad to be alive. We passed many estates and small villages on the way, and the townsfolk had a smile and a hearty cheer for the General. As we whirled by a roadside tavern a bystander waved his hat in the air and shouted a greeting.

It sounded as if he said "Long live Palmora!" and the crowd joined in the general cheer that followed. But all was not love and good fellowship in this country. We received a rude shock on the outskirts of this very village.

There, beside a small chapel of the Greek Church, standing in the midst of a crowded graveyard, was a charred pyre of wood, from the center of which rose an iron post pointing to the sky. On the top of the post a gilded Greek cross glistened in the sunlight, unharmed by the smoke and flames which had raged below.

Tied to the post, blackened and burnt until the flesh had dropped off in places, exposing the bones beneath, was the naked body of a woman. Although the fire had been out for days, smoke still found its way upward, like a gentle blue vapor, fading quickly away. One or two villagers were leaning against the stone wall that surrounded the graveyard, but they were more interested in the automobile than in the terrible scene behind them.

"Look," I cried, pointing it out to Nick.

He touched Teju Okio on the shoulder and the machine was brought to a standstill as quickly as possible; but we had so far overrun the place that we had to back to bring it opposite. The General talked with the idlers and translated their story to me.

"It is the witch of Utrepect," he said. "The priests burnt her at the stake a week ago for blasphemy. She had considerable influence over the minds of the villagers, and was undermining their faith. The Patriarch at Nischon warned her to keep silent. The church excommunicated her and forbade her to come upon church property. She defied them and last Sunday cursed the priest of the chapel upon the spot where she now is. He seized her, aided by his congregation, raised the pyre and burnt her to death as an example for all men who refuse to listen to the church. No one is permitted to touch her on pain of death. So there she hangs until the dogs devour her."

Could it be possible that such barbarism existed in the name of religion in any European country in this the twentieth century? Had anyone told me this a few hours before, I would have laughed at him. But here was the concrete fact before my horrified eyes.

"Drive on, Okio," I cried, sick of the sight. The Jap obeyed.

"That must have been the witch Princess Solonika spoke of as having prophesied that Raoul would never be king," said Nick, smiling at my show of disgust. Neither he nor the General seemed to think the priest's action at all unusual. Cotton Mather had his following even among the Pilgrim Fathers.

Nischon was a matter of fifty miles from Castle Framkor, but Teju Okio manipulated his levers to such good purpose that, in spite of the stop at Utrepect, we came in sight of the ancient city before half past nine. Nischon in the sunlight was a beautiful city. It burst upon us as we reached the top of a high hill and we could thus look down upon its roof tops.

It lay in a valley on both sides of the river they call the Kneister, the only waterway of importance in Bharbazonia, which flows away to the south and empties into the Black Sea, at Bizzett, by means of a subterranean passage through the mountain wall.

The two hills which formed the valley sloped gently down on both sides to the water edge, leaving no level land anywhere. On the tableland, on top of these hills, we could see the numerous castles of the nobles, thrusting their proud stone turrets above the trees like self-appointed watchdogs of the city.

In all the myriad hives of houses below, one building caught my eye before the rest and I did not need to be told that it was the Cathedral. It was a huge structure, standing alone upon a terraced green square on our side of the river. Four minarets, one on each corner, piercing the sky, first riveted the attention. They bore aloft great gilded Greek crosses that flashed the blinding rays of the reflected sun in our eyes as we moved along the road.

Four great domes made up the main body of the structure, three huddling together in a single row in front and the fourth rearing its huge bulk high above the rest in the rear. Like the crosses, the tops of the domes were gilded and the whole effect was that of a building of gold.

"The Cathedral," Nick informed me, "is one of the oldest buildings in the country. It is similar in architectural design to the mosque of St. Sophia which we saw from the yacht as we passed Constantinople. St. Sophia, considered the oldest Christian church in the world, was converted by the Mohammedans into a mosque in the sixteenth century."

The palace of the King was also a noticeable building. Like the Cathedral it was surrounded by its green terrace gardens which held it aloof from the rest of the houses. It was on the other side of the river close to the bank. In fact a wall of ancient masonry enclosed the grounds and rose sheer from the water on the river side. Turrets were built in this wall at regular intervals, as a protection for the castle itself, which stood alone in the centre of the grounds, built more for warfare than for beauty.

The progress of the General in the machine through the streets of Nischon was like the approach of a conquering hero. Everywhere carters drew respectfully aside to let us pass. Men stood with uncovered heads, and women at the windows held their children up to see the great man. Thirty years had but enhanced the glory of the General's achievements as the conqueror of the Turks at the head of the Bharbazonian army. Old men, who had seen service with him during that campaign, cheered and blessed their leader as he passed; and to these the General kissed his hand and shouted friendly greeting.

"I would give all I possess," whispered Nick, "to have the love and respect of the people as the General has."

"Do not despair," I replied; "one day the opportunity may arrive when you will win their esteem. We are all children of chance."

Green uniformed soldiers guarded the drawbridge which spanned the river and led to the King's palace. They stood at attention as the heavy car rolled over the creaking planks. The iron doors in the castle wall swung back on their rusty hinges, and we passed over a driveway winding between green well-kept lawns until we came to the palace.

A lieutenant of the King's Guard opened the tonneau door and assisted us to alight, and a uniformed courier ushered us into the presence of the King, the mighty hero of the battle at the Turk's Head Inn. Gregory was seated at the council table with another old man who I learned was called Nokolovich, a prominent member of the king's official family and his chief advisor. I suppose in any other country he would have had the title of Prime Minister.

Both greeted General Palmora effusively and were gravely attentive to Nicholas. From their manner toward him it was clear that he was known as a Bharbazonian among them and that he had their respect. I was formally presented to the King, in whose eyes, curious to say, I found favour because I was a countryman of General Grant.

"I take great pleasure even now," said the King, "in reading the history of his battles. His example inspired me in our own wars."

In due time all four plunged into the mysterious business of state which brought them together, conversing in the Bharbazonian dialect and I had ample opportunity to observe the great warrior.

Gregory was indeed a commanding figure. Nature meant him to be a king, for she had given him a stature above his fellows and a lordly mien which even old age could not destroy. And he was very old. His great beard, long and white, fell almost to his waist; his snowy locks were brushed back from his forehead and curled in silvery ringlets upon his broad shoulders. Time had bent him but little, and had not taken from him that penetrating glance which suggested his shrewd brother, the Red Fox of Dhalmatia.

But the King looked like a man who ate and drank too well; in whose veins the red blood ran too full. And Mother Nature it seems had sent him her first warning, if one might judge from the lack of control existing along one side of the body, most plainly visible in the halting way he moved his left arm and leg. His determination to abdicate, and bring his life work to a happy conclusion after thirty years of ruling, showed that he intended to heed the warning and take a well-earned rest. It was just as well, for the hand that adjusted the glasses to his dim-visioned eyes shook with a great trembling; it was clear to my medical mind that he could not withstand a second stroke.

I was glad when Nick's part in the proceedings came to an end, and he suggested that we take a walk in the gardens overlooking the river. But I was not long in Nicholas's company. In the gardens we encountered Princess Teskla, the King's daughter. She came suddenly from the shrubbery at the side of the gravel walk and stood in our pathway smiling, her eyes on Nick.

Seldom have I seen a more handsome young woman, and handsome is the word, for "pretty" or "beautiful" would be too weak to picture her. Like her father she was cast in a generous mould. There was no denying the physical attraction of her voluptuous figure and finely chiselled face, wherein was the suggestion of Spanish beauty due no doubt to her swarthy skin and coal-black hair. Such beauty as this might Juno have possessed to dazzle the eyes of the gods on Mount Olympus.

"Nicholas," she cried as she extended her arms toward him, red roses mantling her cheeks and a smile of happiness parting her full lips.

"Teskla," cried he with equal warmth.

As I watched the friendly greeting it dawned upon me that all Nick's journeys in the automobile during our stay in Bharbazonia had not in the past, and would not in the future, be to meetings of the Order at the Turk's Head tavern.

Has it ever been forced upon you that the old saying is true, "Two is company and three is a crowd?" If you have ever been so unfortunate you will understand why I quietly stepped from the path and slipped into the bushes; and why it was that I continued my walk alone. When next they thought of me, if they remembered me at all, I had disappeared and I do not blame them if they were glad.

For my part I too was well content, for I found a comfortable seat on the low wall overlooking the river. Below me the water rippled over the pebble bottom, reflecting the flat-roofed houses on the further shore. It was pleasantly warm in the sun. A few more weeks, and Solonika, with the Prince and her father, might be walking in these gardens while I—I should be preparing for my journey back to America to resume my prosaic practice of medicine. My vacation in Bharbazonia so far had been pleasantly ideal. Somehow I did not view with joy the idea of leaving Framkor, the summer-house of Dhalmatia and, last of all, Solonika.

From my position on the wall I had a view of two walks in the garden which joined at right angles in front of me, one leading from the palace and the other corning from the depth of the garden. My reverie was interrupted by the sound of footsteps upon the gravel pavement. The King, General Palmora and the Prime Minister were approaching. Looking down the other walk I saw the Princess and Nicholas. Although I could see both parties, they could not see each other for the foliage.

Just as the King and his friends arrived at the junction, and turned to go down the walk toward Nicholas and the girl, Nick bent his head and kissed the Princess upon the mouth. They were totally unaware that they were observed. She gave a little cry and struggled, not too vigorously, I thought, to free herself. The three old men stood as if transfixed, watching the love scene. Nicholas refused to release her, although she playfully boxed his ears, and in return he kissed her again. Then they stood apart, looked at each other and laughed aloud.

"Teskla!" shouted the King.

They jumped as if a bomb had been exploded between them, their happy smiles fading. The Princess acted as if she were about to faint, but she recovered herself. I could see that she was speaking quickly and in a low tone to her companion, and that he was heeding what she said. Then, instead of fronting the King, as I fully expected him to do, Nick slipped away into the shrubbery and disappeared, leaving the woman to face her father alone. Truly Nicholas in America and Nicholas in Bharbazonia were two entirely different fellows.

But there was method in the Princess's madness. That rosy young woman came timidly to her father's side. He was fumbling with his glasses but he did not get them adjusted until Nick was gone. But he held them to his eyes and looked coldly at his daughter. She, too happy to care, saucily returned his angry stare.

The King asked her one question, which, being in the dialect, I could not understand. She continued to face him bravely and spoke two words in reply. It sounded as if she said "Prince Raoul." Whatever her answer, it had a great effect upon the General and the Prime Minister. Those two worthies threw up their hands in astonishment, or remonstrance, but they were silenced by a look from the Princess.

The two words also had a remarkable influence upon the angry father. He dropped his glasses from his eyes and laughed, his former passion forgotten like an April shower. He nodded his old white head, rubbed his hands as if the news pleased him beyond expression, and kissed his daughter, not where Nick had kissed her, but upon the brow. Together they retraced their steps. It was all a mystery to me.

When they were at a distance I quietly slipped from my position on the wall and joined them. But I could not learn what had occurred to please the King so highly.

"Are we to congratulate Nick?" I whispered to the General, who had dropped behind with me.

"Shut up," said he, rudely, and then I saw that he was very angry.

On the palace steps we found Nick waiting for us. The Princess waved her hand to him as if to signal that all was well, and he came fearlessly forward and walked beside her. He met the General's scowl with a smile. The King seemed totally unaware that Nick had been the offender. It was plain that we had to thank a clever woman's quick wit for saving a difficult situation.

But at what terrible cost I was to learn later!

The King was in high spirits during the luncheon, but the General and the Prime Minister were inclined to be moody. Princess Teskla and Nicholas behaved scandalously, I thought, openly "making eyes" at each other across the table. But on the whole the meal went off as smoothly as a marriage bell.

It was not until we were homeward bound in the machine that I was able to get to the bottom of the garden mystery.

"What did the Princess tell the King?" I asked in a whisper, that the General might not start his lecture again. He had given his godson a piece of his mind in the home language for the first ten miles, and it is best to let sleeping dogs lie.

"She is a clever little rogue," whispered Nick, rather proud of the girl's achievement, "she told him it was Prince Raoul."

"But why was he so pleased?"

"He would like to see Teskla married to Raoul."

"So?" I replied, remembering what Solonika had said. "But does the King think Prince Raoul is in the habit of visiting her in the gardens clandestinely?"

"Yes; she has often used that excuse before."

"You are a lucky dog," I said.

But Teskla's little white lie was destined to grow big and bear unexpected fruit. We had not mastered the secret of the King's great joy. A little thing like a kiss, it is said, was the cause for one exodus from a garden; or was it a purloined apple?

CHAPTER X

THE DISCOVERY

Can this be true? an arch observer cries,—

Yes, rather moved, I saw it with these eyes.

Sir! I believe it on that ground alone;

I could not had I seen it with my own.

—Cowper: Conversation.

In spite of his recent flirtation with Princess Teskla, being a roomy-hearted youth, Nick could not refrain from casting his eyes in the direction of Solonika's summer-house when we passed Dhalmatia that afternoon about four o'clock. She was seated at her accustomed place by the window, and smiled at us in recognition of our friendly bows.

I looked around for the strange horsemen of the morning, but they were nowhere to be seen. You may believe that I had not forgotten my promise to meet Solonika in her little den. And I flattered myself that she was there waiting for me.

"Stop the car, Nick," I said, "and I will find out when the Prince intends to go on his boar hunt. He will be glad to know that you also accept his invitation."

"Don't be late for dinner, young man," cautioned the General, whose worst fault, perhaps, was his worship of promptness. I promised to be on hand at seven o'clock and stepped into the road. A few yards brought me in sight of the summer-house, but, when I knocked for admittance, no one responded. Solonika's chair was empty and the den deserted. Seeing me pass in the automobile, she had imagined that I would not return and had evidently gone back to the castle.

I hurried along the driveway toward the castle, keeping a sharp lookout for the Princess, but she was not to be seen standing or walking on the lawn. I stopped at the clearing just before you reach the top of the hill, thinking I had missed her among the trees below and knowing that she must soon come in view on her way home, but, although I tarried there long enough to consume two cigarettes, Solonika did not appear. How she escaped me was a mystery, but, since my fancied excuse for the visit had to do with the Prince, I determined to go to the castle directly.

Dajerak, the old butler, greeted me with a smile and bowed me through the door. I dispensed with his willing but slow services, and made my way to the apartments of the Prince without standing on ceremony. Satisfied as to my destination, he went about his business and left me to my own devices. The Red Fox might not have been pleased had he known it.

The Prince was not in his apartments. Neither was he in the room beyond, whither I ventured to go, calling his name. I retraced my steps to the hallway, but Dajerak was nowhere in sight and I did not know where to find the Red Fox. Clearly, if I wanted to see the Prince, I would have to search for him myself. Perhaps the butler had gone to tell him? I returned to the reception room and sat down in his highback chair to wait. Then I heard a voice singing a little French love song. It came faintly to my ears as if the singer were in a room beyond the Prince's dressing chamber. Entering that apartment I heard the singing more distinctly and made sure that it was either the Prince or his sister—their voices as you know were much alike.

"Your Highness," I called, using the title which applied to both, but the singing went on uninterrupted.

Surely the youth was playing with me, and, for aught I knew, might even now be laughing behind a curtain. I was positive that the voice came more particularly from behind a portière in front of me. Possibly it screened a door. I pulled it aside and came upon nothing but the panelled woodwork which formed the walls. The singer in the room beyond seemed now to be at my very elbow. I was not long in determining the cause—the centre panel of the wall was on a hinge; the automatic lock had failed to catch, and the perfectly fitting secret door was partly ajar.

I stood on the borderland of a great discovery, hesitating to continue my search. What right had I, a foreigner, to inquire into the secrets of these Bharbazonians? With Byron, I, too, "loathed that low vice, curiosity." Trouble walks hand in hand with those unfortunates who have not acquired the art of minding their own business. Besides, I owed something to the clear-eyed girl by whose favour I had been received as a friend within the castle. At the remembrance of her trust in me I formed my resolution. Dropping the curtain I retired to the outer room and again seated myself in the Prince's chair to wait until he found me.

Can you go back to the time when you were a child playing the game of hide and seek with other children of your age? Do you recall how difficult it was for you to refrain from "peeping" through your little fingers when you were "hiding your eyes," being that important individual known as "it?" How you blindly faced the wall, your ears alert to catch the direction of the sound when one of your playmates should shrilly pipe "all out?" So it was with me. With a recurrence of those childish feelings I sat holding the arms of the chair, listening to the voice as it came faintly to my ears. Truly men are but children of a larger growth. I found it difficult to maintain my place. Except for the singer the castle seemed deserted. My desire to know what lay behind that curtain grew and grew.