CHAPTER XI.

WAYFARING.

When in after-days Cyril looked back to the events of that night, they seemed to him like the course of a bad dream. The first part of the journey was easy enough, for the road was good, and he occupied the driving-seat with Paschics, exchanging a word with him occasionally, and keeping him supplied with cigars, for the Queen had entreated them to smoke. But when some ten English miles had been covered without interruption, it became necessary to leave the road for an old and almost disused cart-track, leading through rough and hilly country. By this means the first three posting-stations on the road would be missed altogether, a step which was imperative unless the fugitives were simply to be traced from point to point along their way; but time was so precious that Cyril would have been inclined to try whether it was impossible to slip past them unnoticed, if it had not been that the hill-track, though rough, was far shorter than the post-road. There was no more easy driving now. Cyril and Paschics spent the greater part of the night in walking up and down interminable hills, sometimes dragging the horses on, sometimes holding them back, and varying these occupations by pushing at the cart behind, or lifting the wheels out of pits of mud. The two women and the child were so completely tired out that they were scarcely awakened even by the most tremendous jolts, and descents which would have appeared impossible in daylight were attempted confidently by the light of the lantern which Paschics carried, and which was constantly in request for the purpose of consulting the map or the compass. At length the worst and longest hill, having been successfully passed, proved to be the last one, and the two men and the worn-out horses stumbled painfully into the highroad. Looking at one another, in the grey light of the March morning, Cyril and Paschics became aware that they both presented a very disreputable appearance, and the short interval which was granted to the horses for rest and refreshment was utilised by their masters in getting rid of as much mud as possible from their own persons and the wheels of the cart. This was to avoid attracting attention by the amount of soil they were carrying with them, as the mud on the highroad differed in colour from that of the hill-track, besides being much less abundant.

This necessary operation finished, the weary horses were urged on again, Cyril taking his turn of driving, purely for the purpose of keeping himself awake. Happily there was little chance of meeting any one on the road, for the traffic between Tatarjé and other large towns was now carried on almost entirely by means of the railway, and there were no isolated houses or small hamlets to be passed. In the districts nearer to the capital the confidence born of a settled government showed its results in the shape of scattered farms and country houses; but in the province of which Tatarjé was the centre things were not so far advanced, and the fortified villages still occupied points of vantage on the hillside, or hid themselves in secluded valleys, as they had done in the days of Roumi domination. After a time Cyril gave up the reins again to Paschics, and was actually sleeping on his uncomfortable seat, when a voice from behind aroused him.

“Oh, _how_ funny!” it said. “What is we doing, Herr Graf?”

Looking round, he saw the little King kneeling on the straw, and peering up at him from under the edge of the tarpaulin. Thinking that it would be a good thing to caution the child, for fear of his betraying the party, Cyril turned and held out his arms.

“Take hold of my hands, Majestät, and you shall come and sit between us here. Don’t make a noise, or you will wake your mother. That’s it!”

“But where’s nursie--and everybody? And there’s no breakfast. And why are we driving in this funny thing? And the escort has got left behind; but we aren’t going very fast.”

“No, this is a new game,” said Cyril, as the child wriggled from side to side in making these discoveries, “and if you will sit quiet, I’ll tell you about it. We are playing at being English people, and we all have different names. You are a little English boy, and your name is Tommy Weston. Fräulein is pretending to be your nurse, and I am your Uncle Arthur. M. Paschics is called Carlo.”

“Carlo,” repeated the child meditatively. “And what is mamma?”

“She is your mother still; but her name is Mrs Weston.”

“But what is the game, Herr Graf?”

“You must call me Uncle Arthur, not Herr Graf. We are playing at enemies, don’t you see?--travelling through their country; and if they once find out that we are not English, we shall be killed. So you must never speak anything but English, remember, and never call any of us by our old names, because it would do a great deal of harm--I mean it would spoil the game.”

“I don’t think it’s a very interesting game,” said the little King dolefully. “The enemy ought to be coming after us, or hiding behind the hedges to shoot as we go by.”

“I hardly think you would like it if they did,” remarked Cyril.

“No; because we couldn’t run away very fast in this cart, could we? We should have to ride away on the horses,--and there are only two of them.”

“Yes, and they are very tired, too. But I hope in a little while we shall be able to get a carriage, and travel comfortably.”

“And shall we have breakfast too?”

“I rather think Carlo has some provisions that you can begin upon at once. There! will that keep the wolf from the door a little?”

“Oh, it’s just like a picnic!” said King Michael ecstatically, looking at the coarse dark bread and flabby ewe’s-milk cheese which Paschics produced from a bag and handed to him. “Thank you, Carlo; thank you, Uncle Arthur.”

“I am afraid, sir,” said Paschics to Cyril, when the child was engrossed with his frugal meal, “that we may not find it as easy to obtain a carriage and horses at the posting-station as you expect. When I was at my brother’s, and it was too late to let you know, I heard that the traffic by this road had fallen off so much since the construction of the railway, that the regulations were not enforced, and the people at the stations had almost given up keeping horses in readiness. I fear we shall meet with delay, at best.”

“Well, we can’t help it,” returned Cyril, after a moment of dismay, due to his perception of the truth of the detective’s words. The road had been constructed purely for military and strategical purposes, to relieve Tatarjé from the isolation caused by its position as the most outlying portion of the kingdom, and did not follow any of the native trade-routes. The inns and posting-stations maintained by Government had thriven so long as the road presented the swiftest means of communication with the capital; but as soon as the railway was opened, they lost their principal _raison d’être_.

“After all,” Cyril went on cheerfully, “a little rest will do none of us any harm, and we have a good start. The conspirators have no means of knowing what route we have taken, and I hope that our avoiding the first three post-houses will prevent them from discovering it by accident. There is only treachery left, and if we are to be betrayed we may as well be captured sooner as later.”

“Uncle Arthur,” said the little King, “mamma is awake: I think she would like some of this nice bread and cheese.”

“I’m afraid she is not so hungry as you are, Tommy; but take her the bag, by all means, and ask her whether she would not like to have the cover taken off the cart, so that she can sit up.”

The Queen accepted the offer willingly, and she and Fräulein von Staubach straightened their hats and picked a few stray pieces of straw out of their hair before partaking of the bread and cheese. The Queen laughed merrily as Cyril handed her the bag, which proved too heavy for King Michael to carry.

“We will look as respectable as we can,” she said, “even if we are travelling like gipsies. I feel quite excited with wondering what extraordinary thing we shall have to do next.”

“What a blessing that she takes it in this way!” thought Cyril, reflecting on the inevitable unpleasantness if she had chosen to behave with the austere dignity which had characterised her manner of late; “but what would the Baroness say?”

It was not necessary, happily, to settle this point, and Cyril devoted himself to trying to cheer the tired horses to greater exertions, to the end that as little time might be wasted as possible. When the posting-station was reached, the fears expressed by Paschics proved to be only too well founded. True, it was possible to obtain a carriage; but it was old and dilapidated, and needed a thorough cleaning, and the only horses that could draw it were engaged in farm-work at some distance off, and must be brought in by the man who was to act as driver. All this would take some time--so long, indeed, that, as the post-keeper shrewdly observed, it would be as well for the travellers to wait a little longer and lunch before starting, since there was no inn to be found until they reached the little town where they would probably wish to spend the night. Cyril communicated this piece of advice to the Queen, and she begged him immediately to act upon it. Somewhat surprised by her tone, he obeyed.

“And now,” she said, when he returned after making the necessary arrangements, “I insist that you and Carlo shall take possession of that room,” pointing to the solitary apartment devoted to the accommodation of travellers, “and get some rest. Do you think I do not know that you have had no sleep all night?”

“In your service it is our duty never to feel fatigue,” said Cyril, with a bow.

“Then it is quite clear that neither of you is equal to his duty. Suppose you find it impossible to sleep again to-night, in what condition will you be? I shall refuse to intrust my life to your care. Come--Arthur--you will be able to get nearly three hours’ rest, if you don’t waste time. I command you, Count.”

“Madame, I obey, if it is only to keep you from such imprudences as that last speech.” The Queen, who had stamped her foot vehemently as she spoke, looked nonplussed for a moment, and then blushed hotly, and Cyril went on. “I must warn you again that the slightest indiscretion may ruin our chance of escape. And how do you mean to pass the morning, Lilian, if we take possession of the only room?”

“Oh, we will sit in the kitchen with the post-keeper’s wife,” she replied, recovering herself quickly, “and help her to prepare our lunch. You need not be afraid of my being indiscreet, for you know that I speak no Thracian, and Sophie--Julie, I mean--is much too prudent to interpret anything dangerous. I promise you that we will not go out in front of the house--we are far too much frightened. Now _au revoir_, Monsieur my brother!”

Cyril retired obediently, and she turned in triumph to Fräulein von Staubach.

“Do you say I am selfish now, Sophie?”

“I am sure, madame, that I have never ventured----”

“Oh yes, you have. You venture to say a good deal sometimes. But you will never be able to say that again, at any rate. Do you know that I am in such a state of terror that I could almost scream? My nerves are all on edge, and I feel as if the only thing that would calm me would be to make Count Mortimer talk to me the whole morning, and yet I have sent him to rest.”

“Madame, if your brother heard you, he would scarcely feel able to rest.”

“True, but how is one to remember? Oh, Julie, I wish we could have gone on, however slowly, rather than waste time like this! Every sound terrifies me. If a band of pursuers were to appear, I believe I should die on the spot, simply of terror.”

“Madame, be calm. You are trembling from head to foot, and your brother’s task will be made almost impossible if you allow yourself to get into this state. Come into the kitchen, and we will talk to the woman, and ask her to find us something to do.”

In the primitive kitchen, where King Michael was lying flat on the earthen floor investigating the mysteries of a rat-hole behind the flour-bin, the two ladies spent an uneventful if anxious morning. So lonely was the place that only one wayfarer passed by, and he was going towards Tatarjé, not coming from it, but his arrival roused the Queen to fresh alarm. While the woman of the house was supplying the traveller with a glass of spirits in the rude verandah in front, King Michael was astonished to find himself seized and clutched fast by his mother, whose pale face and wild eyes filled him with amazement. As soon as he could he wriggled out of her grasp and returned to the rat-hole, while the Queen, in obedience to a warning look from Fräulein von Staubach, resumed her task of plucking a fowl, which she did very badly. As a patriotic German, Fräulein von Staubach attributed this inexpertness, in her conversation with the woman of the house, to the lack of domesticity among English ladies, and illustrated her remarks by some awful examples, much to the edification of the Thracian dame. To the Queen, who understood scarcely a word--for she had obstinately refused throughout her married life to study the language of her adopted country--the talk failed to afford much amusement; but it helped to pass away the weary hours, and the difficulties incident to her occupation prevented her mind from dwelling exclusively on her many reasons for anxiety. Still, it was with heartfelt relief that she hunted out King Michael from his corner at last, and carried him off into the yard behind the house to have the dust brushed off his clothes, and his face and hands washed before lunch, for the horses had been brought in, and the driver was giving a somewhat perfunctory cleaning to the untidy old carriage. They would soon be on their way again, she thought, and her relief made her smile pleasantly at Cyril as he emerged from his room, looking as spick and span as if he had come fresh from the skilful hands of Dietrich. The luncheon was set out in the sunny verandah before the house, and the little party that gathered round the uncovered table took their seats upon the rough benches, prepared to do full justice to the meal. An involuntary smile crossed Cyril’s face when he found himself at the head of the board, with the Queen and her boy on either side of him, while at the lower end of the table, and on the same bench as the Queen, were Paschics and Fräulein von Staubach.

“What are you laughing at, Arthur?” asked the Queen.

“I was wondering what Baroness von Hilfenstein would say if she saw us now,” he replied.

“Oh, let us forget the Baroness for a little!” she said impatiently. “This is a picnic in a different world. We are quite another set of people, and it doesn’t signify to her what we do.”

Cyril smiled again, but said nothing, and they went on talking and laughing as they ate until the Queen dropped her knife suddenly.

“Listen!” she cried, turning pale. “I hear horses.”

“They are coming in the opposite direction,” said Cyril, after a moment of awful suspense, “and there are only two or three. Pull yourself together, Lilian, and play your part well. There is nothing to be afraid of.”

She smiled rather forlornly; but her hand released its tight grip of the King’s, and she began to cut her bread resolutely into small squares, as though it was all important that the fragments should be exactly the same size. Meanwhile, the post-keeper’s wife, hearing the approaching sounds, came to the door to look out.

“It is the sub-prefect, no doubt,” she said. “He is visiting every house in the district to make some inquiry for the Government.”

As no house-to-house inquiry had been ordered from Bellaviste, the thought suggested itself to Cyril that the sub-prefect was probably in league with the conspirators, and had received his directions from Tatarjé; but he did not feel it necessary to alarm the Queen further with the idea. It was not long before the horsemen rode up--the sub-prefect, a stout man in an elderly uniform, very dirty and tarnished, and two followers who might have been stage cut-throats, but were probably privates in the Army Reserve. The woman of the house went forward to answer the official’s questions, and Cyril heard the words “English travellers” pass between them. Presently the sub-prefect dismounted and approached the group, his followers also drawing near and eyeing them with great interest.

“Why don’t they salute?” asked the little King indignantly, noting something military in the equipment of the gazers; “and why are they so untidy? Salute!” he cried, scrambling over the bench, and facing the men, to their no small amusement.

“Come here, Tommy,” said the Queen; “it is not for you to give orders. My little boy has always been accustomed to be saluted by his father’s soldiers,” she said graciously in English to the sub-prefect, to whom Cyril had just offered a share of the meal.

“Ah, the lady’s husband is a soldier?” replied the sub-prefect, seating himself, and letting his little eyes rove over the group, when Cyril, assisted by Paschics, had rendered the apology into halting Thracian. “The English have very few soldiers. You have travelled from Tatarjé this morning, I suppose?” turning to Cyril.

“No, indeed; through an awkward accident we have been obliged to come across country in a cart belonging to a farmer named Paschics.”

“Ah, I know Anton Paschics. But the proceeding is irregular--very. You have a passport, I suppose?”

“We could scarcely have got so far on our journey without one,” replied Cyril, producing the document.

“Signed and countersigned quite correctly, I see. But where is the frontier official’s stamp? You came by Velisi, I presume?”

“You really can’t expect a foreigner to know the name of every place he passes. I know one has to go through any number of formalities. Do you mean to say that this thing is not correct?”

“Very far from correct. It lacks a most important verification. I cannot accept this passport. We are warned to be very careful about foreign travellers.”

“But surely that warning was directed against possible Scythian spies?” objected Cyril, who began to find the measures of precaution, the adoption of which he had recommended in his official capacity, recoiling on his own head.

“Yes, to please you English--at least, your countryman, Count Mortimer--and therefore it is only fair that I should use it against you. I must insist on your returning to Tatarjé with me, in order that this matter may be inquired into, instead of continuing your journey.”

The blow was a crushing one; but Cyril allowed no stronger feeling than natural irritation to appear in his face as he turned from the sub-prefect, dressed in his little brief authority, to the Queen, who had been listening anxiously.

“It’s a horrid bother, Lilian; but this fellow talks of taking us back to Tatarjé with him, because of some informality in this wretched thing.”

To his delight she neither shuddered nor changed colour, but replied promptly in English with an unmistakable pout, “Oh, Arthur, how awfully tiresome! We shan’t be able to get to Bellaviste for Easter, and it’s all through your insisting on coming this way. Can’t you give the man something to make him hold his tongue?”

“And the unprincipled little wretch calmly proposes to bribe her own officials to wink at an infraction of her own laws!” was the ecstatic thought that passed through Cyril’s mind as he turned again to the sub-prefect. “Look here,” he said, “the lady is very anxious to get to Bellaviste for Easter. Can’t we arrange this somehow? Perhaps”--he drew the official away from Paschics, and took from his pocket an Anglo-Thracian phrase-book to help him in his assumed difficulties with the language--“Perhaps you could affix a stamp to the passport which would help us in future? Of course, the fee would have to be paid.”

The sub-prefect’s eyes gleamed for a moment; but there was real sadness in them when he answered, much more politely than before.

“Alas, no! I have no stamp that would answer the purpose.”

“But perhaps with your assistance we might tide over this difficulty, and get on afterwards as we have done hitherto? Come, monsieur, I think I cannot be mistaken,--have I not heard of you as a collector of coins?”

“You have heard of me?” The sub-prefect was puzzled, but interested and eager.

“It is possible that I might be able to assist you with some specimens for your collection. The English sovereign, for instance--it is generally regarded as rather a handsome coin. I hope you are not already possessed of an example?”

This time the sub-prefect understood perfectly. “I have not got it,” he said. “But it is of little use to obtain a single specimen. One desires a duplicate--perhaps also one or two for purposes of exchange.”

“I fancy I could manage to let you have three.”

“I fear that I could not well do with fewer than six.”

“Oh, come now, five; and you will countersign the passport, so that we may escape trouble in future?”

“Five be it, then. The coinage of your country is quite admirable, both as to design and weight, and I am glad to obtain specimens. I cannot say that I had realised its full beauty hitherto.”

He stood testing and scrutinising with the eye of a connoisseur the five sovereigns with which Cyril, who had provided himself with a certain quantity of English money for the purpose of supporting his assumed character, presented him, and then turning again to the table, scrawled a huge “Examined and found correct,” with his signature, across the passport, which he folded up and returned to Cyril with a bow. The carriage was ready by this time, and as none of the party felt inclined to linger at the table, the luggage was brought out and they started, leaving the sub-prefect bowing on the verandah, and his henchmen saluting with broad grins.

“Courage, madame!” said Cyril in a low voice, leaning across to the Queen, who looked ready to faint now that the immediate danger was over. “You did that admirably, but we must keep on the mask still. Remember that we have the driver with us.”

She roused herself with a low shuddering sigh, but Cyril did not allow her to bear the strain unaided. There was scarcely a man in Europe who could talk more brilliantly than he could when he chose, and this afternoon he threw himself into the breach as though his whole aim in life was to enthral his hearers by his conversation. The anxious look faded gradually from the Queen’s eyes, the colour came back to her face, and before she had time to think she was engaged in an animated war of words. Cyril was instructing her in English ways, in case of their meeting any travelled official who knew England, and she, in self-defence, was displaying the knowledge of them which she already possessed, and which, if extensive, was certainly also peculiar, being derived largely from the didactic novels of half a century ago, which she had read in German translations. Thanks in some degree to a prejudice against England on the part of her mother, and also to her own past dislike of Cyril, she had no acquaintance whatever with modern English literature, and despised what she knew of English customs, so that there was ample material for conversation and also for controversy. They talked almost unceasingly for hours, interrupted only by occasional changes of horses, and by the more frequent interpellations of the little King, who listened eagerly for the illustrative anecdotes, but rejected mere information with scorn, and could only be kept in a good temper by being allowed to walk up the hills with Paschics and race down them behind the carriage. This healthy exercise tired him out at last, and he fell asleep, leaning against his mother, while the Queen and Cyril continued their discourse in lowered tones. Both were so deeply interested that it was only an irrepressible yawn from Fräulein von Staubach, for which she apologised with extreme contrition, which aroused them at last to the fact that it was already growing dusk.

“It must be nearly six o’clock,” said Cyril. “Ask the driver whether we have much farther to go, Carlo.”

“He says that we have passed the last hill, sir,” responded Paschics, after conferring with his companion upon the box, “and that there is only now a level stretch of good road between us and our stopping-place.”

“Ask him whether he can’t get a little more speed out of his horses, then. Mrs Weston is beginning to feel very tired.”

The driver whipped up the horses in obedience to the suggestion, and the carriage was going on its way at a respectable pace, when there was a sudden ominous crack. The horses swerved half across the road, and the carriage lurched violently and then seemed to settle down in front, throwing its occupants into a heap. Cyril heard the driver invoke a malediction upon a certain defective axle-tree, and was conscious that Paschics threw himself from the box, and rushed to the heads of the startled horses; but his own duty left him no time to do anything until he had extricated his frightened companions from the medley of luggage and rugs which had overwhelmed them, and set them in safety at the side of the road. Both the ladies were very much shaken, and the little King was crying lustily; but as soon as Cyril had ascertained that none of them had received any actual injury he returned to the carriage, which Paschics was examining with the aid of one of the lamps, while the driver held the horses. A very cursory examination was sufficient to convince all the three that the axle-tree, which had been spliced, braced, and strengthened many times already, was quite beyond remedy with the means at their disposal, which amounted solely to the ropes doing duty as harness, and the straps upon the baggage.

“I suppose it is out of the question to hope to find a wheelwright anywhere about,” said Cyril; “but we ought to be able to get hold of a blacksmith or carpenter who could patch this up sufficiently for us to reach the town. Ask the driver whether there is any village about here, Carlo.”

Paschics interrogated the driver, and returned to Cyril. “He says that there is no village nearer than the town, sir; but there is a large farmhouse about half a mile away across the fields. We could reach it by a cart-track which turns off from the road about a dozen yards farther on, and they would be able to give us accommodation for the night, besides helping to mend the carriage.”

“Does he think it impossible to reach the town to-night?”

Paschics translated the question, and the surly answer, “The carriage will take so long to mend, sir, that it would be impossible unless we went on travelling until after midnight, and that he will not do. He is afraid of evil spirits.”

“Then I suppose we must make the best of a bad job,” said Cyril. “Anything like our persistent ill-luck on this journey I never saw. Well, we must drag the carriage to the side of the road, and mount the ladies on the horses. You can lead one and I the other, and he shall go in front with the lamp and show us the way to the farm.”

The driver demurred at first to the idea of leaving the valuable remains of the carriage unguarded; but when it was pointed out to him that he would otherwise be separated from his still more precious horses, he acquiesced sullenly in Cyril’s decision. The horses were brought to the side of the road, and the bags and rugs tied on their backs with the harness-ropes in such a way as to form some approach to a saddle. Then the Queen mounted one, with the little King perched before her, and Fräulein von Staubach the other, and the melancholy procession started in the direction of the farm, traversing a lane in which the ruts bade fair to beat the record for depth and intricacy. When the lights of the house were seen in front, and the driver went forward to announce the plight of the party, Cyril took the opportunity of saying--

“I don’t want to frighten you, Lilian; but I don’t feel easy about this delay, following upon our meeting with our friend the sub-prefect. If he receives news from Tatarjé of our escape, he will spot us at once, and perhaps block the way in front. I think we ought to have some other disguise to which we can resort if we are hard pressed, and it might be as well if there were native clothes for all of us. Perhaps you might be able to buy one complete costume here to-night, and another in the town when we get there to-morrow morning. Carlo and I might rig ourselves out at Ortojuk, which we expect to reach at mid-day, and then we shall all have something to take to if necessary, without arousing suspicion by buying a lot of clothes all at once. What do you think, Carlo?”

“I think the idea is excellent, sir. I see no reason to apprehend treachery, but I am disturbed by this second misfortune.”

“I will certainly buy a dress if I can,” said the Queen. “I suppose there would be no harm in getting two if they were willing to sell them?”

“None whatever; only then you will have to invent some excuse for wanting them. One you might wish to take home as a curiosity, but you would scarcely---- Ah, here is our friend returning, and not alone. I hope the people are hospitably inclined.”

But there was no need for apprehension as to the welcome to be found at the farm. The family which inhabited it, and which was patriarchal in extent and in variety of ages, came out in a body to greet the travellers and assure them of hospitality, and escorted them into the high-walled courtyard which enclosed the house and outbuildings. Supper was already over, but a supplementary meal was quickly prepared; and when it had been consumed, the men of the family accompanied Paschics and the driver back to the road, to see what could be done for the carriage, while the Queen and Fräulein von Staubach were taken possession of by the women. Cyril was lounging in front of the house with a cigar, and endeavouring to draw some comfort from the different misfortunes of the day, when the Queen came out from the passage behind him.

“I am sorry to disturb you, Arthur,” she said, “but would you mind fetching Tommy for me? He has slipped out into the yard to play with the farmer’s grandchildren, and he ought to go to bed. We are doing our best to induce the women to sell us some of their clothes. They were very unwilling to part with them at first; but now the younger ones are beginning to think that they could buy themselves Western costumes with the money we should pay. Some of the things are most beautifully worked--there is a little embroidered suit belonging to one of the boys which looks as if it would just fit Tommy, so please bring him in.”

Smiling to himself at her complete absorption in the matter in hand, Cyril went in search of King Michael, whom he discovered snugly ensconced on the top of a partially demolished corn-stack, in company with the children of the farm. They were talking eagerly as he approached.

“The little stranger boy shall be the king, because he is the youngest, and has such pretty yellow hair. I will be the old queen, his mother.”

To Cyril’s horror King Michael’s voice answered in Thracian--

“I mustn’t be king, because mamma wouldn’t like it. She made me promise never to say----”

“Tommy, where are you?” interrupted Cyril, as the other children looked curiously at their new playmate. “Your mother wants you.”

“I don’t want to go to bed!” protested the little King tearfully, while the tall girl who had spoken first, and who had been winding one of his curls round her finger, laughed.

“We thought he was such a good little boy!” she said.

“I hope you always remember what your mother tells you,” said Cyril, in laboriously bad Thracian. “Come along, Tommy. Give me your hands, and I’ll jump you down.”

But the little King drew himself up. “You are not to talk to me like that,” he said. “It isn’t play, it’s rude.”

This was alarming, but Cyril laughed it off as well as he could.

“Speak English, Tommy. How am I to know what you are saying? You see that he has picked up your language from his nurse,” he explained to the other children; “I hope he has not learnt his naughtiness from you. Now, Tommy, come at once,” he added sharply.

But King Michael still refused to come, and when Cyril carried him off bodily, stiffened himself like an animated ramrod, so that it was almost impossible to hold him. Happily it was beneath his dignity to struggle or scream, and Cyril got him into the house, landing him finally at his mother’s side in the large kitchen where the women were displaying their finery. To Cyril’s intense amusement he overheard, as he came along the passage, the Queen drawing upon her imagination in picturing a gathering to be held “in the village schoolroom when we get home,” at which “my brother” would give an address on Thracia and the Thracians, illustrated by magic-lantern views, and “you and Tommy and I, Julie,” would appear on the platform in Thracian costume in order further to elucidate the lecture. The women were listening with delighted interest to Fräulein von Staubach’s rendering of her words, and it was evident that she had them all at her feet.

“I have bought two dresses, Arthur,” she said, turning to him, “and I am sure this little suit will fit Tommy. I wish we could have bought a suit for you. It would make the lecture so much more complete, wouldn’t it? And now you must give me some more money.”

“I believe she really imagines herself a travelling Englishwoman for the moment,” said Cyril to himself, as he returned to the front of the house after furnishing the Queen with a handful of Thracian silver, judiciously “salted” with English coins, “and that she is looking forward to a real penny reading when she returns to her imaginary English village. It’s queer, but at any rate it shows that she appreciated my lesson on manners and customs to-day, and it’s all the better for our purpose.”

Hearing the voices of the men returning from the highroad, he walked to the gate to meet them, and was relieved to learn that they had succeeded in effecting the necessary repairs to the carriage. On thanking the farmer for his timely help, it seemed to him, however, that his words were not received with the same bluff frankness as before; but he could perceive no reason for the change until Paschics directed his attention to a new member of the party, an unkempt-looking youngish man with waving hair and beard, and the bright, restless eyes of the fanatic.

“That is the farmer’s youngest son. He is a theological student, and has just arrived. He is on a pilgrimage, and comes from Ortojuk by way of the town we were to have reached to-night,” said the detective in English, pointing smilingly at the young man; but Cyril guessed that there was more behind.

“Tell the farmer, Carlo, that we are sorry to intrude upon a family gathering of this kind, and ask if he will allow us to smoke out here while his son has supper and they talk a little.”

The old farmer granted the request with some compunction, as it appeared, and went into the house with his family, while Cyril turned to Paschics.

“Is this another piece of ill luck?” he asked.

“Your Excellency, that man suspects us. I saw him questioning the driver, but I cannot make out how much he knows. You will remember that Ortojuk is connected with Tatarjé by telegraph, though not by railway. It seems to me that the conspirators, on discovering the escape of the King and Queen, must have circulated some account of it which is calculated to stir up the fanaticism of the people. This man, who was at Ortojuk at mid-day, seems to have carried on the news to the town at which we were to have spent the night, and if we had arrived there we should have found ourselves, as it appears to me, in the lion’s mouth.”

“Then our break-down was a piece of good luck, at any rate,” said Cyril; “but it’s not much to be set against the balance on the other side. Well, Carlo (it would be advisable to continue our precautions, in spite of all this), what do you say they will do?--arrest us themselves, or fetch the police?”

“Neither, sir; I imagine that some of them will accompany us to the town upon some pretext or other, and there inform the police of their suspicions. They will not violate the hospitality of their own roof, and they would be afraid of getting into trouble if they brought about the arrest of English travellers on a false charge.”

“That is just what I should imagine, but unhappily the other plan will be equally fatal to us. We must get away in the night.”

“Are you serious, sir? How are we to bring the horses out without waking these people?”

“We must abandon the carriage, and walk.”

“With two ladies and a child, sir! It is impossible.”

“Nevertheless, it must be done, if for nothing else, because it’s a case of dear life for you and me. But the--Mrs Weston’s resolution won’t need that spur. She would walk barefoot across Europe to keep the boy a Lutheran. And walk we must, if we are to get off.”

“But how far, sir? and what is the good?”

“We must get to Ortojuk and across the river. You know that the city commands the only bridge for many miles. If they can hold that, we are trapped. But my plan is, that we should start before these people here, and do the journey in the disguise of peasants. The ladies have the dresses they have just bought, and you and I must manage to get hold of some peasant clothes somehow, even if we have to waylay passing travellers and effect a forcible exchange. Our great safeguard will be that they cannot tell that we have changed our disguise, and we may slip through unsuspected.”

“But they will find out that you and I have purchased clothes, sir--or requisitioned them, which would be worse.”

“My good Carlo, I am not seriously proposing that we should embark upon a course of highway robbery. I merely intended to imply that we must somehow or other procure peasants’ clothes. As to the shopkeepers’ suspecting us, we must do our best to disarm their suspicions by only buying one or two things at a time--and perhaps making use of Julie as the purchaser until we have got together one complete suit. I don’t say it’s a perfect plan, Carlo; but I can’t think of a better. We must make a spurt and get across the river, and it is quite certain that we can’t do it in our own clothes. When we are over on the other side, we may get a breathing-space; but if we stop now we lose everything.”

“I know of a place of refuge over there, sir. An old cousin of my mother’s is a charcoal-burner in the forest; and my brother described to me the spot where his hut is situated. If we could reach it, we could remain hidden there for a day or two to rest and make fresh plans.”

“Good; it is a goal to aim at, at any rate, and you shall mark the place for me on the map when we get to our room. But for goodness’ sake, if you have any other plan, suggest it. This is a very forlorn hope, I know---- Listen! what is that moving in the passage?”