CHAPTER X.

A NEW RELATIONSHIP.

Left to himself, Cyril rose from his chair, and began to walk rapidly up and down the room, maturing some plan in his mind as he walked. Once or twice his meditations were interrupted by the entrance of a servant with a letter or a message; but he disposed quickly of these stray pieces of business, and returned to the consideration of his more important scheme. When Paschics came back, he sent him to summon M. Stefanovics, and then unfolded to the two men the tale of the conspiracy which he had forced from the wretched Sergeivics.

“But this is fearful!” cried M. Stefanovics. “Surely you have taken some steps, Count? Their Majesties ought to have left the town already.”

“The railway-station is watched, and even if it was too early to oppose the departure of the Court by force, nothing could be easier than to wreck the train,” said Cyril curtly.

“But why not telegraph for help to Bellaviste--or to Feodoratz, if M. Drakovics is too far off to be of any assistance?”

“Because I have for some time past suspected that some one was tampering with our telegrams, and now I am sure of it. I have just received a telegram which ought to have reached me three days ago, but which the operator says must have been delayed in transmission. It is from M. Drakovics, begging me not to leave Tatarjé until I have heard again from him, and if it had arrived in proper time it would have delayed my journey. Now, of course, it is too late.”

The eyes of the other two men met with a puzzled expression. “But if you suspect the officials here,” suggested M. Stefanovics, “why not despatch a telegram from some point outside the city?”

“Because the danger does not arise merely from treachery here. That would scarcely explain the delay in this telegram, and certainly not the confusion and omissions which have puzzled me in others. No; I believe that the conspirators are in the habit of tapping the wires between this and Bellaviste, and so reading, and occasionally altering, the telegrams which pass between the Premier and myself.”

“Then, you consider, Count, that to telegraph for assistance would simply defeat all our hopes of catching the miscreants unawares?”

“Exactly. Whatever is to be done must be done from this end.”

“You would perhaps suggest that their Majesties should cross the frontier, and take refuge in Dardanian territory?”

“No. I had thought of that at first; but besides producing an extremely unfortunate impression abroad, the attempt would be useless, for the Prince and Princess have left their country residence, and returned to Bashi Konak for the opening of the Legislature.”

“But still, would it not be advisable for their Majesties, under the pretext of a simple drive, to cross into Dardania, and then to make all speed for Bashi Konak?”

“It might be, except that everybody in the Villa and the town knows that no one belonging to the Court will drive to-day. You cannot surely have forgotten that the Queen is commemorating the late King’s birthday in retirement in her own apartments? If orders were given to prepare a carriage, it would instantly be surmised that something alarming had occurred, and a small band of resolute men could easily stop us at a dozen points between this and the Dardanian frontier. Moreover, we must not forget that the relations between the Scythian and Dardanian Courts are very close, and to my mind the message brought by this man Sergeivics to his fellow-conspirators here points to some knowledge of the plot on the part of Baron Natarin, if not of a more exalted individual behind him. It might even be a portion of the design to drive her Majesty into seeking refuge in Dardania.”

“One must hope,” said M. Stefanovics, with some pique, “that you have some plan of your own to propose for securing the safety of their Majesties, Count, since you see so many flaws in all that I can suggest.”

“Exactly; I have a plan--but I know that you will see innumerable flaws in it, although it is the only one that seems to me to offer a hope of success.”

“If it commends itself to your Excellency,” said Paschics stoutly, “that is enough for me.”

M. Stefanovics gave a nod of acquiescence, and Cyril brought out a map of the district and unrolled it. “You perceive,” he said, “that in this case the railway and the telegraph, instead of being, as usual, our friends, are our enemies, since they are in the power of the conspirators. My idea is, then, to avoid them altogether, and provide a means of escape for their Majesties by way of the old post-road, which takes quite a different route from the railway, and reaches at last the estates of Prince Mirkovics, whose loyalty no one can doubt, and who will provide us with a safe asylum until help can be obtained from Bellaviste.”

“But you forget, my dear Count, that spring can scarcely be said to have begun, and that the post-road passes through the forest and across the mountains before it reaches the Mirkovics domain.”

“I do not forget it; but this is a matter of life and death, Stefanovics.”

“But surely the presence of so large a body of travellers on the old road would create such a stir that it would be impossible for the Court to travel unnoticed, not to mention the difficulty of providing transport for so many?”

“You are right, and delay or recognition would simply mean that we should be pursued and brought back. No; I do not intend to conduct a Court progress, after the manner of a second flight to Varennes. My idea is simply that M. Paschics and I should smuggle the Queen, the little King, and one lady-in-waiting, through the country in disguise.”

The audacity of the proposal took away M. Stefanovics’s breath.

“And the rest of the Court?” he inquired blankly.

“I am afraid they must stay here, in blissful ignorance, until the escape of their Majesties is discovered. The conspirators are not likely to be bloodthirsty, except in the case of unfortunate suspects like myself.”

“We are to remain at the Villa, while you and the Queen--Holy Peter! do you imagine the Queen would ever consent to such a plan of escape, Count?”

“I trust she may, if it is put before her suddenly. If she had time to think over it, I agree with you that there would be no hope. You see how the thing works out. I must pretend to start for Bellaviste as I had arranged to do, in order to avert suspicion; but you must let me into the Villa again by the private stairway. Then we must lay the matter before the Queen, and prevail upon her to start at once. We can only count on being left in peace until the time when the Villa is usually quiet for the night.”

“The risk is terrible. And yet, what else----? But you will never obtain her Majesty’s consent.”

“Then her Majesty will have the pleasure of seeing me shot down before her eyes, I presume. But do you agree to the plan in so far as you are concerned?”

“How can I venture to object to it? It seems the only hope, and you are risking more than the rest of us. A few days’ imprisonment would be the worst punishment we should receive. But the hardships of your journey will be dreadful for women and a child.”

“Better than the dungeons of the Bishop’s palace--that is all one can say. The season is altogether on the side of the conspirators. Then you will come into the scheme, Stefanovics? Now, Paschics, for your part. You have some relations living not far off, I believe?”

“Yes, Excellency; a married brother, who farms his own land.”

“And you did not go to see them at Christmas, I think? Well, it will be convenient if you pay them a visit to-day. Start after lunch, and take a bag--full of presents for the children, or delicacies from the town, or anything of the sort. You may let it be known that you will not be back to-night. At your brother’s, hire his lightest cart, with the two best horses he has, and tell him he will find it the day after to-morrow left for him at No. 4 posting-house on the old road to Bellaviste. Put in some straw--as much as you can--and any rugs you can get to make it comfortable, and as soon as it is dark this evening, drive the cart to the spot where the corner of the Alexova estate touches the old road. Wait there under the trees and give your horses a good feed. If we succeed we will join you; if not, you had better get back to your brother’s as fast as you can, for your own sake. By the bye, could you disguise yourself as a courier?”

“With the greatest ease, your Excellency.”

“Then take with you anything you will require. You will be wanted to-morrow as courier to an English family whose carriage has met with an accident. I will see about the passport.”

“One moment, Count,” said M. Stefanovics, with some embarrassment. “I do not wish to interfere with your excellent plans; but you are, after all, a young man and unmarried. Would it not be more suitable--less open to unfavourable remark--if Madame Stefanovics and I undertook the responsible task of conducting her Majesty’s flight, in conjunction, of course, with M. Paschics?”

“It would simply be putting my neck in a noose,” muttered Paschics, gazing apprehensively at the placid face and comfortable girth of the worthy chamberlain.

“I have no objection whatever,” returned Cyril. “You must see for yourself that I risk my life in coming back at all, and the slightest misfortune or accident might lead to our being hunted down like wolves. By all means carry the thing through, Stefanovics. No doubt you have more influence than I have over the Queen, who is not exactly the easiest of ladies to manage.”

“True,” remarked M. Stefanovics sadly. “Count, I have done you an injustice. You alone can carry out this scheme, if any one can do it. I will not venture, for I should only fail, and do harm to others.”

Cyril laughed silently to himself as the two men left the room, and then turned his attention to arranging several matters of importance connected with the great scheme. It was necessary first to write to M. Drakovics; but when the letter was finished he put it into his pocket, and did not post it. Next he busied himself in drawing up a passport for the party of English travellers of whom he had spoken to Paschics, and who comprised a Mrs Weston, her brother, her little son, her nurse, and an Italian courier. The document did not leave Cyril’s hands; but when he had finished with it, it bore other signatures than his, carefully copied from a genuine passport which lay before him on the table. There was one thing which he did not attempt to imitate--the stamp of the frontier official whose duty it was to see that all passports were in order. Cyril had not a stamp at hand, and it would risk suspicion, and certainly cause delay, to send for one, while a bad imitation might arouse doubts as to the genuineness of the whole thing. It went to his heart to set out with the document incomplete; but he knew that it is sometimes necessary to sacrifice technical perfection to practical utility, and after drying his handiwork carefully in the sun, he put it by safely. He had intended after this to take advantage of Dietrich’s absence at dinner to go to his own quarters and pack a small bag with necessaries, hiding it in his office, where the valet would not be likely to find it; but he decided that it was improbable he would be able to carry it, and contented himself with putting two or three indispensable articles in his pockets. There were still various things to be arranged in view of his impending departure, and he spent the afternoon in attending to these. He had his farewell audience of the Queen, dined with the household, and drove to the station with Stefanovics, who was deputed to see him off. There were several dignitaries on the platform, who had come for the same purpose--the mayor of the town, the commandant of the garrison, an archdeacon to represent the Bishop, and one or two others. It was only right that they should be there; but Cyril felt sure that some of them would have found excuses and stayed away if it had not been that they were eager to assure themselves of his departure by the evidence of their own eyes. He stayed on the platform talking to them for some minutes, and then entered his carriage, which was one of those belonging to the royal train, but had been detailed for the service of the Minister of the Household.

“It’s a blessing all that fuss is over!” he said aloud, as the door was shut after he had shaken hands with the officials outside. “Now that we are left to ourselves, Dietrich, I think I will change my things. What is the good of a holiday if one doesn’t wear holiday clothes?”

To Dietrich, who knew that his master shared the incomprehensible dislike of most Englishmen for livery of any kind, it was quite natural that he should be anxious to change his official uniform at once for a suit of ordinary clothes, and the transformation was quickly effected and concealed by the regulation overcoat which had been worn in driving to the station. It was well that this precaution had been taken, for before long a sudden hubbub arose on the platform, followed by a visit of the mayor to the carriage. Sergeivics, with his escort of police, had just been conducted to a third-class compartment, and the gentlemen on the platform were anxious to know of what crime he was accused. Happily Cyril was able to gratify their curiosity by a vivid description of the theft of the cigarette-case, aggravated, as it was, by the possession of the revolver, which had, no doubt, also been purloined, and his account interested them so much that they all crowded into the carriage to hear it. Cyril began to fear that they would insist on travelling with him as far as the next station, which would have complicated matters seriously; but it was as important for them to be in Tatarjé that night as to see him out of it, and they returned to the platform precipitately when the bell rang. The moment for Cyril’s great _coup_ was close at hand; but there was not the slightest trace of excitement visible in his manner as he stretched himself in an arm-chair, and raised his arms behind his head in a long yawn.

“I shan’t want you any more to-night, Dietrich; and don’t come bothering me at every station. Get a good night’s rest; I shall ring fast enough if I want you. And, by the bye, if I don’t call out to you when we get to Bellaviste in the morning, don’t come in and wake me. See that the car is shunted into the siding, and take this letter straight to his Excellency the Premier. You understand? You are not to lose a minute. Then go home: if I have got there before you, it will be all right; if not, wait for orders. You can go now.”

But Dietrich had failed fully to comprehend the order, and it was necessary to repeat and emphasise it, so that the train was already in motion when he betook himself to his own compartment. Cyril, who had drawn up one of the blinds, and was bowing his farewells to the group on the platform, turned with a sudden quickening of the heart as he heard the door shut behind the valet. The speed was increasing; in another moment his time for action would come. He threw off his overcoat, and felt mechanically in his pockets to see whether he had transferred to them everything he wanted. The train moved slowly out of the lighted station into the dark night, and Cyril opened the door of communication, and stepped out on the gangway between the two carriages. Climbing over the railing, he remained for a moment holding to its outer edge, then let himself drop. He fell clear of the line, and rolled out of the way of the train, remaining prostrate at the side of the road until the last carriage had passed, then climbed the bank (the station stood outside the town), and plunged into the wood which fringed it. He had studied his route carefully on the map, and carried a compass on his watch-chain, which he consulted every now and then with the help of a match, so that he succeeded in making his way safely round the outskirts of the town without approaching any house. He was tired, wet, and muddy when he reached at length the wall which surrounded the grounds of the Villa, and he felt it to be an additional grievance that he failed to strike the gate exactly, and had to make a considerable circuit before he came to it. The gate was reached at last, however, and it responded easily and noiselessly to the well-oiled key which he took from his pocket. Crossing the grounds, he came to the shrubbery opposite the terrace, and for some few minutes watched the sentry pacing up and down. Then there came the sound of the opening of a door, and the little red ball of light from a cigar became visible. This was the signal which Cyril had agreed upon with Stefanovics, and the next time that the sentry’s back was turned he crept across the terrace, and arrived in the doorway so suddenly as to startle the chamberlain almost into a cry. Leaving the door ajar, they crept up the narrow winding staircase on which it opened, and which was a relic of the days of the last king of the house of Franza. It communicated with a room which had been used by King Peter for receiving his Ministers--and other persons--and which now served the Queen for holding private audiences. She disliked the secret stair on account of its associations, and had wished to have it bricked up; but Cyril had succeeded in persuading her that it was an interesting historic survival, and might possibly prove useful again, little thinking how soon he was to discover the truth of his own words. One of the only two keys which fitted this door was in his possession by virtue of his office, and the lock moved easily.

“Ask to speak to Baroness von Hilfenstein,” he whispered to Stefanovics, as the latter preceded him into the room; “but on no account let out that I am here until you are sure that no one else can hear what you have to say.”

He waited in darkness behind the partially closed door until the sound of voices showed him that Stefanovics had succeeded in finding some one; but still he was not summoned, and time was flying. Pushing open the door, he appeared in the room, to the accompaniment of a little scream from the Baroness, and an outpouring of self-justification from Stefanovics.

“The Baroness refuses to admit us to her Majesty’s presence, Count, although she tells me that the Queen has sent away her maids, and is talking over the fire with Fräulein von Staubach. It is in vain that I----”

“Consider the hour, my dear Count,” said the Baroness reprovingly. “I must beg of you to retire immediately. It is in the highest degree irregular for you to seek an audience of the Queen at such a time.”

“My dear Baroness,” returned Cyril, “you know me pretty well by this time, and will believe me when I tell you that my business is of such importance that if you won’t consent to inform her Majesty of my desire to see her I must announce myself.”

After a glance at his face to assure herself that he was in earnest, the Baroness withdrew without a word, and the next sound that reached his ears was the Queen’s voice in the adjoining room.

“Count Mortimer here again? I thought we were free from him for a week at least! He asks to see me at this hour? The man must be mad. Most certainly I refuse to see him, Baroness. Be so good as to tell him that I shall know how to resent this intrusion.”

A low-toned remonstrance from the Baroness and a frightened murmur from Fräulein von Staubach followed, interrupted ruthlessly by Cyril.

“Madame,” he cried, approaching the door of communication, “I have returned at the risk of my life to bring you news of a plot which aims at the forcible conversion of your son to the Orthodox Church, and the subjugation of his kingdom to Scythia.”

“A plot to convert my son!” The door was thrown open, and Cyril had a momentary glimpse of a figure with terrified dark eyes, and rippling chestnut hair flowing over a white dressing-gown. Then the Baroness dashed forward, shutting the door in his face, and he heard her agonised voice--

“Madame, remember your position! I entreat your Majesty----”

The rest was inaudible, and Cyril stood fuming over the precious time which was being lost because the old woman would not allow him to see the Queen in a dressing-gown. But the door opened again almost immediately, and the Queen stood on the threshold, pale and calm. The other ladies had clad her in a loose black gown, and hidden away her hair under the flowing crape veil she wore in the daytime, and she looked a different being.

“Tell me, Count,” she said, “when is this plot to be carried out?”

“To-night, madame; and I believe very shortly. You and the King were to be seized in your beds and carried off to the Bishop’s palace, there to be starved into compliance with the demands of the conspirators.”

“And you would advise us, no doubt, to take refuge in the castle immediately?”

“I fear, madame, that you would only be running into danger. The garrison is honeycombed with disaffection.”

“Then there is only one chance left, for I know well that it is impossible to defend this house. We must go to the municipal offices, and throw ourselves on the protection of the burghers.”

“Unfortunately, madame, there is no safety there. The whole of Tatarjé is utterly disloyal.”

“Then what are we to do?” Her voice rang piteously in his ears; but she dashed the tears resolutely from her eyes. “Count, I rely upon you to help me. This plot threatens my son’s honour--not only his kingdom. You have not come here simply to warn us of the approach of inevitable danger. You have a plan to save the King. Tell me what it is. I will follow your advice.”

She had risen so completely above her usual level that for the moment Cyril was tempted to forget her inveterate distrust of him. He answered promptly--

“There is one way to save the King and yourself, madame. If you will consent to adopt a disguise, and to start immediately upon a somewhat troublesome journey, with your son and one lady in attendance, I will do my best to conduct you safely to Bellaviste.”

“Ah! you have made plans for this journey?”

“One does not generally undertake such a venture at haphazard, madame. I have done what I could to ensure success, and I may say that I have good hopes of attaining it.”

“And what,” she demanded, in a voice that made him jump, “is there to assure me that this is not a plot of your own, invented for the purpose of making me ridiculous or even humiliating me in the eyes of the world? Where are the proofs of the conspiracy you have discovered?”

“I have none,” said Cyril laconically. Her change of tone had restored his mind immediately to its usual balance. “If you will wait half an hour or so, madame, the proofs will probably arrive in the persons of the conspirators; but it will then be too late to save your son.”

She bit her lips with vexation. “It is useless to ignore the fact, Count, that the relations between us have not been wholly amicable of late, and you are popularly supposed never to let slip an opportunity of revenging yourself.”

“A guilty conscience is usually an unpleasant companion, madame; but on this occasion it is also an untrustworthy adviser.”

“How? Do you venture to imply---- You must be aware that you are asking me to repose an extraordinary degree of confidence in you, Count.”

“Not more than your husband reposed in me, madame. Have I ever betrayed that confidence? Even when you most disliked my measures, have they not proved to be advantageous--even necessary?”

“Unhappily they have. But this case is wholly without precedent.”

“It is for you, madame, to decide whether you prefer to be saved in an unprecedented way, or ruined in a manner which is unfortunately not entirely new. If your son is to be rescued, I must ask you to make up your mind quickly now, and to be obedient afterwards.”

“Obedient! That is a strange word to use to me!”

“I have no doubt that the action is equally new to you, madame.”

She turned from him with a gesture of disgust. “How am I to decide?” she asked angrily. “On the one side I risk my son’s kingdom, on the other my good name. If I could only trust him! Baroness, I will not appeal to you. If Count Mortimer suggested a journey to the moon, you would only inquire mildly, ‘By what route does the Herr Graf propose to conduct us?’ Sophie, you are not a blind idolater. Tell me quickly--shall I trust him?”

Poor Fräulein von Staubach, finding herself thus appealed to, turned first red and then white, twisted her fingers painfully together, and sought inspiration in the corners of the ceiling. Her advice came suddenly, accompanied by a rush of tears and a great gulp: “Trust him, madame. I believe you may.”

“Then you also have gone over to the enemy!” said the Queen sarcastically, as she turned again to Cyril. “I congratulate you upon your convert, Count. I wish you would exercise the same influence over me; but as you have not thought fit to do so, I am afraid I must ask you to swear that you have told me nothing but the truth, and that your motives are what you represent them to be. Will you do this?”

“No, madame, I will not swear. If you cannot accept the word of a man who has endangered his life in order to serve you, you must drag him down to destruction with yourself.”

She looked up in alarm, and caught sight of the repressed fury in his face. She gave a little gasp, and her eyes fell before his.

“Forgive me, Count. I do trust you. I will obey.”

Cyril’s heart leapt within him, but he betrayed no sign of exultation over his victory. His tones were sternly business-like as he said--

“Then, madame, I must beg of you to disguise yourself as an Englishwoman. Put on a tailor-made gown and a small felt hat, if you please, and a short straight veil _à l’anglaise_, covering only the upper part of the face. It would make it less easy for you to be recognised if the dress was not black, but of some coloured cloth. Bring also a fur cloak, for you will find it very cold. Which of the ladies is to be summoned to attend you?”

“Pardon me, madame; that is my place,” said Baroness von Hilfenstein, as the Queen looked round helplessly.

“I cannot consent to that, Baroness,” said Cyril. “You could not support the fatigues of the journey, and moreover, your presence will be needed here. Have you any preference as to your attendant, madame?”

“I should like to have Fräulein von Staubach if--if you--if it would not do any harm,” faltered the Queen.

“That is the very selection I would have ventured to suggest, madame. Fräulein von Staubach speaks Thracian well, and although the passport is made out for a German, we may find it desirable to change our disguise after a time. May I beg of you, Fräulein, to dress yourself to play the part of a nurse, and to see that the King is warmly wrapped up? Will you also pack a small bag with necessaries for her Majesty, and another for yourself. They must not be too large to be carried conveniently in the hand, for we have to cross the park on foot before we can reach the vehicle which is awaiting us. And pray waste no time. Every minute is precious.”

The three ladies disappeared promptly, and Cyril stood waiting for what seemed to him to be hours. He curbed his impatience, and whiled away the time by making one or two final arrangements with M. Stefanovics; but they had both relapsed into an uneasy silence before Baroness von Hilfenstein entered the room, and beckoned Cyril out of earshot of the chamberlain.

“You think success is possible in this enterprise of yours, Count?”

“Certainly possible, Baroness; and possibly certain.”

“I did not come to ask you to play upon words,” very severely.

“I ask your pardon, Baroness. The danger has excited me. I think I must be fey.”

“I do not know that word, my dear Count.”

“It only means that some one is walking over my grave, Baroness.”

“Do not speak in that way,” said the old lady, looking at him with alarm not unmixed with tenderness. “Count, I cannot forget to-night that you are a young man, although it has never struck me before. Can I depend upon you to take such care of the Queen as I myself should take were I with you?”

“I promise you, Baroness, that I will take as much care of the Queen as she will allow me.”

“She will prove somewhat trying, I do not doubt. But you have mastered her to-night, and that may change her manner towards you. I cannot tell--I am afraid----”

“Are you afraid of her Majesty or of me, Baroness?”

The sudden question recalled the Baroness to her duty. “I am not afraid of either of you; but I am very much afraid of circumstances,” she replied, looking straight at Cyril.

“I have always aimed at moulding circumstances, Baroness, and not at allowing them to mould me.”

“That is very well, but circumstances are sometimes too strong---- But guard well the proprieties, my dear Count. Maintain the niceties of etiquette with even unusual care, for they will form a barrier to protect the Queen from her unfortunate surroundings. You will promise me this?”

“Anything in reason, Baroness. I will do my best, certainly. But,” changing the subject with some impatience, “may I remind you that our escape will largely depend upon you? Of course it is impossible to defend this house; but the longer you can keep the conspirators in talk before they discover the Queen’s absence, the better for us.”

“You are right. I will meet them and argue with them, refuse to allow them to proceed, and retreat only inch by inch before threats of violence. And then, Count, I will try another expedient. When they insist on seeing the Queen, my daughter shall personate her Majesty. They are about the same height, and through the crape veil it will be impossible to detect the difference.”

“It is an excellent idea, Baroness, if Baroness Paula has the nerve to carry it out. But what about the King?”

“We will dress up a pillow in his clothes, and Mrs Jones shall carry it. If we are hurried away to the Bishop’s palace at once, they will not detect the trick until the morning, which will---- Oh, is that you, Mrs Jones?”

“Yes, ma’am, it is; and hearin’ no good of myself, as they say no eavesdroppers don’t. I think I see myself carryin’ about a pillow dressed up in his Majesty’s clothes, and the precious lamb himself left to that there Frawline!”

“Mrs Jones, we cannot take you with us.” Cyril spoke sharply, noting that Mrs Jones was ready equipped for the journey. “You would be recognised anywhere,” for tales of the magnificence of demeanour of the King’s nurse, and her unbending deportment towards the natives of her land of exile, circulated wherever the Court moved, “and that would ruin the whole scheme. You must stay here, and obey the orders of the Baroness, and so help us to save the King.”

“Thank you, my lord; and what if I declines to stay here?”

“Then you will have the responsibility of destroying the King’s only chance of escape. We are in your hands, Mrs Jones. If you will stay behind, it will help to gain time for us to get beyond the reach of pursuit; but you may as well go and inform the conspirators at once that we are trying to escape as insist on coming with us. Which is it to be?”

“My lord, if me stayin’ here can help the King and your lordship to escape, I’ll stay here till Doomsday, and no one shan’t drag me from the house, not if wild horses was to try it. I thank you, my lord, for talkin’ to me like a reasonable Christian woman, and here I stays, and no thanks to no one else, neither!”

And Mrs Jones retired with added dignity, just as the Queen entered the room, looking absurdly young and girlish in her grey tweed dress and simple hat, and followed by Fräulein von Staubach, with the little King, well wrapped up, fast asleep in her arms.

“One moment before we start, madame,” said Cyril. “From this time forward you are an English lady, Mrs Weston, and I am your brother, Arthur Cleeves. Your Christian name is Lilian. The King is your son Tommy, Fräulein von Staubach is his German nurse Julie, and my clerk Paschics, who is waiting for us on the other side of the park, is Carlo, an Italian courier. We are travelling by road, and our carriage has broken down, which makes it necessary for us to hire a country cart to convey us to the next posting-station. Let me impress upon you the necessity of speaking nothing but English, and of keeping to our assumed names, even when no strangers are present, for the sake of practice. I think you had better give me the child, Fr--Julie, and I will take my sister’s bag, if you can manage your own. Now we had better start--Lilian.”

The Queen gave Baroness von Hilfenstein a half-tearful, half-smiling glance, for the old lady’s face was a study when she heard Cyril’s words, and it was with difficulty that she restrained herself from insisting, even at this late hour, on the abandonment of the scheme. “Take care of her Majesty,” she whispered anxiously to Fräulein von Staubach, holding her back from descending the stairs after the other two; “remind her constantly of her position. Maintain all the restraints possible, and remember that if anything happens, I shall never forgive you or myself.”

Very much flurried, and totally unable to comprehend the full force of the warning, Fräulein von Staubach nevertheless promised faithfully to observe it, and hurried down the steps after her mistress, who had reached the door at the foot of the staircase. Here the fugitives stood for a moment in the shadow, listening to the beating of their own hearts, while M. Stefanovics, emerging from the doorway, joined the sentry in his walk, and accompanied him to the end of the terrace, where he directed his attention to an imaginary glare in the sky over the city, which he suggested was due to a street-fire. While the sentry, deeply interested (for he knew something of the plot, and was watching for any sign of its being carried out), was doing his best to see the remarkably faint and fitful glow pointed out to him, Cyril directed the Queen and Fräulein von Staubach to cross the terrace as quietly as possible, and conceal themselves among the shrubs on the farther side. The next moment he followed them; but the interval had been long enough to allow a fear to seize him which covered his brow with cold sweat. What if the conspirators were already in hiding among those very bushes? But no one appeared, and no movement was made, and he led the way through the gardens, walking on the grass wherever he could so as to avoid making any sound, and then through a wicket-gate into the park. Here their progress was much more satisfactory, for they were quite out of sight from the house, and could walk rapidly over the turf, although it required some care to avoid coming into unpleasantly close and sudden contact with the trees. But when the more open ground was left behind, and it was necessary to plunge into a thick wood, the ladies found their difficulties greatly increased, and the more so that Cyril, encumbered as he was with the sleeping child and the Queen’s bag, could do little to aid them. They made no complaint, and toiled on bravely through briers and wet bushes, which had a perverse way of springing back and striking the unwary traveller on the face; but it was no small relief to Cyril when they reached the boundary of the estate, and a whistle from him brought up Paschics to relieve him temporarily of the burden of the little King, and to help the ladies over the fence. They descended the steep bank to the road, where the Queen stopped suddenly, aghast at the sight of the vehicle awaiting them, and then laughed until the tears came into her eyes. It was the usual light wooden cart of the more advanced among the farmers, without springs or tilt, and provided with a board by way of driving-seat. The floor was covered thickly with straw, and there were several rugs stowed away in the front, while the two rough, stout little horses had had their bells carefully removed.

“Come, Lilian, let me help you up,” said Cyril briskly, handing the little King to Fräulein von Staubach, and mounting into the cart. “I can make you and Tommy a most comfortable nest in the straw, and there is a rug for Julie as well. Give me your hand, and Carlo will show you where to put your foot.”

The Queen, with the tears still in her eyes, allowed herself to be helped in, and sat silent as Cyril lifted the child and laid him in her arms; but when Fräulein von Staubach had been established beside her, and Paschics had produced a piece of tarpaulin, which he fastened to the sides of the cart so as to shelter the inmates, she put out her hand suddenly and laid it on Cyril’s.

“Don’t think I am ungrateful,” she said; “it is all so strange. I feel as if I were in a dream. But I will do all I can to avoid being a trouble to you.”