CHAPTER XII.

METAMORPHOSES.

Paschics literally sprang away from the doorway as Cyril asked the question; but a low voice speaking in Thracian from the darkness of the passage speedily allayed their alarm.

“Please stand as you were before,” it said, “so that if any one notices you they may not know that you are talking to me. I am Olga--you saw me on the stack with the others before my uncle came home--and my mother has sent me to warn the English gentleman. I am hiding behind the door, so that even if any of them come into the passage they will not see me; but you must speak very low, and keep your faces turned the other way.”

“Very well, mademoiselle. We are now arranged as you dictate,” said Cyril. “Pray proceed.”

“My grandfather and the rest are saying that there is something wrong about you, and they are going to tell the police to-morrow. My mother says that she cannot say what you may have done; but she doesn’t want any harm to come to the young lady or to the little boy with the pretty hair, and she advises you to get away in the night. The house-door is never locked, and she will oil the hinges to make it open easily; but she cannot do anything to the yard-gate, for it is always locked and barred, and takes two men to open it. You will have to escape over the wall; but our people all sleep soundly, so you will not wake them unless you make a great noise. The corner where there is a crooked tree close to the wall is the easiest place to climb.”

“Many thanks, mademoiselle. Your mother’s forethought is marvellous. Does her kindness extend to offering us any further assistance--in the way of disguise, for instance?”

“She says that she dares not sell you any of the men’s clothes, because they would be angry; but in the room where you will sleep there is a carved chest, with some clothes belonging to my eldest brother in it. He leaves them here because he is studying law at Bellaviste, and wears town clothes there. My mother cannot sell you his things, but----” an expressive pause.

“If you find the clothes gone in the morning, and some money in their place, you will not consider us thieves, nor think it necessary to inform your grandfather immediately of the exchange?” A giggle was the only answer, and Cyril went on, “Is there any possibility of our finding two suits in that chest, mademoiselle? for I fear we both need a change of attire.”

“Alas, no! There may not be even one complete suit, and there is certainly only one winter coat. You must apportion them as you can, gentlemen. The English gentleman needs the disguise most.” Another giggle, as the speaker evidently surveyed Cyril’s tourist suit and soft felt hat through the crack of the door.

“Mademoiselle, we lie under an unbounded obligation to your mother and yourself. Would it be possible for you to add to our load by conveying a message to the young lady or to her maid?”

“Oh yes, I could do that. They have gone to their room; but they asked me to bring them some hot water--to drink, I suppose, but it seems a funny thing to want--and I could take them a letter with it. My mother told me to tell you that they would have the room of my three aunts--that is the first door in the passage which turns off from this one at the back of the house. You have the guest-room, which is nearest to this door.”

“The arrangements of your dwelling seem a little complicated,” observed Cyril.

“Ah, that is because my grandfather has been obliged to build on a fresh piece so often when my uncles got married. But we have more rooms than any other house in the district. We are not like the people who have only one sleeping-room, and share that with the cattle--pigs, I call them.”

“Far from it,” returned Cyril. “But in England we should have given the guest-room to the ladies.”

“And put you and your servant in the worse room of the two? What a funny idea--to treat women better than men!”

And she broke into a long noiseless fit of laughter, during which Cyril tore a leaf from his pocket-book, and scribbled on it a message to the Queen:--

“Read this when none of the people of the house are with you. Some of them suspect us, and we must escape to-night. Put on the Thracian dresses you have bought, and lie down in your clothes. Get some sleep if you can; we will inform you when it is time to start. Carry your boots in your hands when we call you, and bring your own clothes in a bundle, as well as the luggage you brought. Don’t be frightened; there are friends even here. The girl Olga and her mother are to be trusted.”

He folded up the paper, and passed it in through the crack of the door, accompanied by a coin or two. He heard the girl’s gasp of delight, and a sudden swift rustle as she crept from her hiding-place; then a quick whisper reached him as she remembered something and turned back.

“When you are over the wall, don’t take the cart-road by which you came, but the right-hand one. It will lead you into the highroad a good deal farther on; and on the opposite side you will see a wood, where they have been cutting down trees lately. You might take shelter among the stacked wood until daylight. My mother feels sure that she can keep them from discovering your escape until seven o’clock.”

Then she was gone, and although Cyril caught a momentary glimpse of her in the back passage a little later, bearing two steaming wooden tumblers of hot water to the Queen’s room, she came no more to the door. When she had passed out of sight, he turned to Paschics.

“Well, Carlo, we have our work cut out for us to-night, that is evident. I think it will be well to represent that we are tired with our journey, and ask leave to go to bed as soon as possible. Then we can perfect our plans. By the bye, have you looked in at the horses at all?”

“No, sir,” responded Paschics in surprise.

“Then we will go and do it now,” and they crossed the farmyard and entered the stable. Here Cyril found a state of things which threw him into a towering passion, and made him despatch Paschics to fetch their driver, who was enjoying a pleasant evening with the two or three men employed on the farm.

“What do you mean by leaving the horses like this?” he stormed, when the man appeared, surly and reluctant. “You have not even rubbed them down, and the mud is literally caked on their legs. The black can’t reach the manger, and there is something seriously wrong with the grey’s off fore-foot. Do you imagine that I would drive about behind cattle like that? Perhaps you counted on having time to clean them in the morning, but I can assure you that we shall start too early for that. By eight o’clock we must be upon the road, and it will be the worse for you if the horses are not fit to be seen.”

Cowed by the rebukes translated to him by Paschics, the driver attempted various excuses. The horses were his own, they were not accustomed to be groomed, no travellers had ever said anything of the kind before, and so on; but Cyril cut him short, and reiterating his last warning, turned on his heel and went back to the house with Paschics.

“How is that?” he asked him. “I fancy our friend will have a pretty clear idea as to our intention of starting in good time in the morning, will he not?”

“No doubt, sir; but was it worth while to awaken the man’s enmity merely for that? I saw him scowl at you as you turned away.”

“You are right; it would not have been worth while merely for that. But while you were fetching him from the house, I took the opportunity of examining the corner of the wall by the stable, which is the very corner Miss Olga mentioned to us. Thanks to the crooked tree and the roughness of the stones, we shall be able to get the ladies over with no great difficulty, if one of us is at the top to receive them and the other at the foot to help them up.”

“I must say I wish we were safe outside, sir.”

“Why not say at once safe at Prince Mirkovics’s castle or in Bellaviste itself? But here is our venerable friend the farmer. It would be as well to ask whether he has any objection to our retiring to rest now.”

The farmer, who met them with a somewhat shame-faced countenance, offered no opposition to their wishes, and they were conducted to the guest-room, where the rugs from the carriage had been arranged so as to make a bed for Paschics on the floor.

“No bed for us to-night, Carlo,” said Cyril, catching the look of pleasure which his weary follower cast at the lowly couch. “First of all, while this primitive candle lasts, do you mark on my map the spot where your cousin the charcoal-burner lives, while I hunt for the chest of clothes. Ah, this must be it!”

But the result of a search in the chest was not wholly satisfactory. The sheepskin-lined _kaftan_ of which Olga had spoken was there, and so were a pair of high boots and a fur cap, and also several gaily embroidered shirts and the short decorated jacket which is worn to display them; but there was not one complete suit to be found, much less two.

“Well, we must divide the things, and do what we can,” said Cyril.

“No, sir,” said Paschics, firmly; “you must disguise yourself as thoroughly as possible. You are far more necessary to--to Mrs Weston than I am, and in far more danger. I can alter my present appearance sufficiently to pass muster in my own clothes, and if we have an opportunity to-morrow I will buy a disguise in one of the towns we must traverse.”

Cyril yielded to the good sense of his follower, and proceeded to array himself in the Thracian garments, supplementing the deficiencies with his own; but, happily, the coat was so long, and the boots so high, as to make it most unlikely that he would be perceived to be wearing tweed trousers instead of the baggy knickerbockers proper to the costume. When his toilet was complete, he turned to Paschics for his approval, but met instead a look of absolute consternation.

“It is impossible, sir--quite impossible. You look no more like a Thracian peasant than--the Emperor of Scythia. You have the air of a blond Hercynian officer at a fancy dress ball. To pass through the country in that costume is simply to court disaster. You would be arrested as a Scythian spy by our own people if the conspirators had not seized you first.”

“We have plenty of time before us,” said Cyril, forbearingly, “and it is your business to use it in fitting me to the costume. Pull yourself together. You can do it if you try: I won’t believe that such a master in the art of disguise could be beaten in such a comparatively simple problem. Sit down and consider carefully what is wrong. Then we will see what can be done to remedy it.”

Paschics obeyed, and before long his face lighted up.

“You are right, sir. I had forgotten this,” and he produced something from his pocket. “You may remember that I once told you I always carried a wig and false beard about with me. They will work wonders.” He fastened on the beard, and arranged the wig on Cyril’s head, pulling forward the unkempt hair over his forehead, so as to shade his eyes. “Now for a few strokes of the brush,” and by means of a small bottle of pigment he altered the shape of the eyebrows, and added various lines and wrinkles to the face. “If you will be so good as to dip your hands in the mud of the road when we are outside the walls, sir, I think you will be quite unrecognisable.”

“But what about you?” asked Cyril. “You should have kept the wig and beard for yourself.” But his success in transforming the appearance of his employer seemed to have stimulated Paschics, for he next proceeded methodically to disguise himself. He did not change his clothes, except that he took Cyril’s hat, which he moulded into a different shape, instead of his own; but when his preparations were complete, he was no longer the smart, bustling, business-like Italian courier, but an idle Thracian down on his luck, and only half at ease in his shabby Western garments. His coat was stained and partially buttonless; his hat, placed at what ought to have been a rakish angle, had an air of indescribable melancholy, owing to the fact that its brim was turned down on one side instead of up, and his very hair and moustache, which had been gaily curled, now hung dank and despondent.

“Bravo!” cried Cyril. “It will take a knowing fellow to recognise you, Carlo. Now let us pack up our possessions, and then I think it will be time to be off.”

Their preparations had taken a considerable time, and the house had long been silent. They rolled up the rugs and Cyril’s discarded garments into a bundle, which Paschics was to carry, and placed a gold coin in the chest from which they had obtained the clothes. The money due to the driver was also wrapped in paper and placed in a conspicuous spot; for, although it might have been good policy to aim at being taken for mere thieves instead of more important fugitives, Cyril did not wish to give the man an additional reason for pursuing the party with his enmity. They then carried the bundle out into the yard, and Paschics, climbing the wall, lowered it to the other side, remaining at the top himself to help the rest. The door opened easily, as Olga had promised it should, and beside it they found a little pile of barley-cakes and an old brandy-bottle filled with rye-beer. Having secured these, and given them into the charge of Paschics, Cyril returned noiselessly into the house. It was necessary to move with the greatest caution, in order to avoid disturbing the sleepers whose snores were audible from the rooms on either side; but Cyril had paced the passage carefully when he went to bid good-night to the farmer, and knew exactly how far to go. Arrived at the door which Olga had indicated, he scratched on it very lightly with his nail, and it was opened immediately by Fräulein von Staubach.

“We have been expecting you for hours!” she whispered reproachfully. “Neither Mrs Weston nor I could bring ourselves to close our eyes; but Tommy is fast asleep again, although we had to wake him to dress him.”

“Give him to me just as he is, and do you and Mrs Weston bring your things and follow me,” Cyril whispered back. The Queen laid her son in his arms without a word, and he led the way down the passage. The floor was of beaten earth, so that there were no boards to creak, and the two ladies were carrying their boots in their hands, in accordance with the directions they had received, and thus not the slightest sound was made. While they paused outside to put on their boots, Cyril secured the door noiselessly, and then noticed that the Queen and Fräulein von Staubach were not carrying the bundles of clothes he had expected.

“What have you done with your own things?” he asked, in a low voice, but with some irritation, of Fräulein von Staubach.

“We have got them on under these,” she whispered. “The Thracian dresses are so thin and loose that they would be too cold alone, and so we put them on over those we had.”

“Then you were not able to buy pelisses?” said Cyril, as he led the way to the corner where Paschics was waiting. “However, the weather is mild, and these women are wonderfully hardy, so that your being without them will not excite remark.”

They had reached the crooked tree by this time, and the ladies were a little appalled to behold their means of escape. The Queen insisted on being the first to tempt the perils of the climb, and Cyril, intrusting the sleeping form of the little King to Fräulein von Staubach, assisted her to reach the top of the wall, climbing up after her himself to help her to lower herself on the outer side until Paschics could guide her feet to the crevices in the stonework. The King was next conveyed across, still without being awakened, and then Cyril descended again to help Fräulein von Staubach, whose transit was the most difficult of all. She had not the Queen’s agility, and she was painfully nervous; but by dint of superhuman efforts on her part and on Cyril’s, she was at last able to join the group outside. The luggage was next passed over, and then Cyril let himself down, to be met by a little shriek from the Queen as he did so. In the shadow inside she had not noticed his disguise, and for the moment she believed him to be one of the enemy. Paschics viewed her alarm with equanimity, as a tribute to his skill, and in the midst of whispered explanations a start was made, Cyril again carrying the King. The ladies had been left unencumbered; but before they had gone more than a few steps the Queen snatched her bag from the hand of Paschics.

“You shall not carry everything for us!” she cried. “Sophie, take your own bag immediately. M. Paschics is heavily laden already with that great parcel.”

“Prudence, madame!” remonstrated Cyril. “I fear that in the morning we may be compelled to support our assumed characters by leaving you to carry your own luggage; but at present we are still civilised beings. That does not allow us to consider ourselves in safety, however.”

The Queen laughed and blushed, and they went on in silence along the muddy cart-track. The heaviness of the ground made their progress very difficult, and the ladies were manifestly relieved when the wood of which Olga had spoken was reached, and Cyril announced that they were to rest there for a few hours. He himself would have been inclined to press on at once; but he realised that the endurance of the party was limited by that of its feeblest members, and that it was better to rest now and start at daybreak than to undertake the greater fatigue of a night-journey, and perhaps find the ladies unable to proceed when in a hostile neighbourhood. Accordingly, he and Paschics hunted about in the wood until they came upon the clearing made by the woodcutters, where the poles which had been cut were piled up against one another to season. The shelter thus formed needed only to have its open ends filled in with branches to form a very passable hut for the ladies, and when the rugs had been spread on a carpet of dry leaves and twigs, the interior was voted by common consent to be positively luxurious. The Queen and Fräulein von Staubach took grateful possession of their new abode, while Cyril and Paschics camped outside, and in spite of the unwonted nature of the surroundings and the alarm of their position, there was not one of the party that did not sleep well.

It was one of Cyril’s enviable characteristics that he could awake at any hour he pleased, and this stood him in good stead the next morning, although the rest were scarcely disposed to rejoice in his possession of the faculty when he called them before daybreak. He hastened to explain, however, that they ought to be on the road as soon as it was fairly twilight, and that there was a good deal to do first, and they partook meekly of the frugal meal he served out, and awaited his orders.

“It is my painful duty to announce that we must lighten the ship,” he said. “We brought away all our luggage from the farm in order to puzzle the enemy, but we can’t carry it with us. It would be too heavy, and it would arouse suspicion. Everything that cannot be carried in your pockets, ladies, or in a large pocket-handkerchief, must be left behind.”

“But if the enemy find the things, it will help them to track us,” objected Fräulein von Staubach.

“I propose to bury everything we leave,” answered Cyril. “It is evident that this spot is not often visited now that the woodcutting is over, and the dead leaves and light soil are easy to move.”

“But you would not bury the Queen’s sable cloak?” in a tone of horror. “It was the Emperor of Scythia’s wedding present to her, and it is priceless.”

“Nonsense, Sophie!” said the Queen. “What is a fur cloak compared with honour and safety? You shall bury anything you like, Count--Arthur, I mean. We are all forgetting our _noms de guerre_.”

“We must change them again now,” said Cyril, “in accordance with our changed position. From this moment we are merely Thracian peasants. If you will call yourself Anna, madame, and Fräulein von Staubach Maria, M. Paschics shall be Nicolai, and I will be Ivan. The King we may call Sascha. May I entreat you all to speak nothing but Thracian when we are upon the road? As for you, madame, I fear you must pretend to be dumb. To be overheard speaking any language but Thracian would be fatal.”

“Very well,” said the Queen; “from this moment I am dumb.”

“Then shall we now proceed to get rid of our surplus possessions?” asked Cyril. “As my luggage has consisted since the beginning of this trip of a toothbrush, a pocket-comb, and a piece of soap, I have a good deal of room left in my pockets, and I shall be glad to carry anything I can for any one, and so will Nicolai, I am sure. To work, ladies, if you please!”

With heroic calmness the Queen and Fräulein von Staubach proceeded to select the most necessary or most portable of their belongings, and dispose of them as best they could about their persons, while Cyril and Paschics, with the aid of some broken branches, were digging a hole in the ground, in which they laid the Queen’s cloak and the other rejected treasures. This operation was finished by the pale light of the spring morning; and as soon as the leaves and soil had been replaced, Cyril ordered a start. They walked as far as possible through the wood, and only quitted it when it would have taken them away from the road, to which they returned at a spot some four English miles beyond that at which they had left it the night before in order to reach the farm. The order of their march had now to be adapted to their supposed circumstances. Cyril and Paschics walked in front in lordly style, while the two ladies came humbly behind, according to Thracian custom, carrying, when there was any one to see them, the one the little King and the other the bundle of rugs, although when the road was empty they were immediately relieved of their burdens. It was only occasionally that they fell in with country-people, who exchanged a bucolic greeting with the two men and took no notice of the women, and to their great relief they were not overtaken by any one from the farm they had quitted so unceremoniously. At about eight o’clock in the morning they came in sight of the little town, or rather large village, at which they were to have spent the night; and Paschics proposed that the rest should make their way round it without entering, while he went boldly on to purchase food and, if possible, a suit of country clothes for himself. Cyril was loath to lose such an opportunity of gauging personally the feelings of the inhabitants; but his common-sense told him that in the uncertain condition of affairs Paschics was a safer messenger than he was, and he led his charges into a field-path which, as his map showed him, would rejoin the road later on, while the detective walked on towards the town. At the point at which the path returned to the road Cyril and his party halted and, concealed by a clump of bushes, waited for Paschics. It was some time before he came in sight, and when he saw Cyril awaiting him he made him a hasty sign to withdraw behind the bushes, and looked up and down the road anxiously. Then he turned aside, and, sitting down on the bank, began to eat some food which he took from his pocket. Presently Cyril, who had been watching him through the bushes in surprise, saw the reason of this strange behaviour, for another wayfarer came round the turn of the road, and, after exchanging a greeting with Paschics, limped on his way. It was not until this man had passed out of sight that Paschics rose and approached the rest, and they saw as he came that his face was very gloomy.

“Then you could not get any other clothes?” Cyril asked him, as he distributed the coarse bread and slices of sausage which he had brought in his handkerchief.

“I found the shopkeeper so inquisitive, sir, that I did not venture to do anything that might arouse his suspicions further. He asked me any number of questions--who I was, whence I came, where I was going, whether I was travelling alone, and if so, what I wanted with such a store of food. My answers did not throw much light on our circumstances, as you may guess; but the fact of his asking the questions was in itself unpleasant.”

“But was the man merely inquisitive, or did he know anything to make him suspicious?” demanded Cyril quickly. The detective’s eyes met his meaningly, and he was about to suggest a private conversation, when the Queen, seeing his intention, interposed--

“Allow us to hear what new danger threatens us, Count. We are all exposed to the same peril, and we have a right to know its nature.”

“I find,” Paschics went on unwillingly, in response to a sign from Cyril, to whom he persisted in addressing himself, “that our friend the farmer’s son passed through the town last night on his way from Ortojuk to the farm. He rested a short time at the tavern, and told the people the news which he had heard in Ortojuk, whither it had been telegraphed from Tatarjé. It seems (this is what he said) that an arrangement had been arrived at between her Majesty the Queen and our Holy Synod for the conversion of the King to the Orthodox faith. It was for this reason that the Court was spending the winter at Tatarjé, which is at once a stronghold of the Orthodox and remote from the capital, for the conversion was to be kept a secret until it had actually taken place, on account of the opposition which would be raised by the Queen’s mother and the Hercynian Imperial family generally, and by the other Western Powers. Meanwhile, Bishop Philaret of Tatarjé had been instructing the King diligently in his new faith, and the ceremony of receiving him into the Orthodox Church by the rite of confirmation was arranged to take place on Friday--yesterday. But on the night of Thursday his Majesty was kidnapped by some person or persons unknown, presumably foreigners in the employ of the Princess of Weldart, and had utterly disappeared. A strict watch had been set on the frontier, and it was known that no suspicious characters had crossed it, so that it was evident that the abductors had turned their steps into the interior of the country, and measures were at once taken to discover and arrest them. This was done by order of the Queen, who remained at Tatarjé in the greatest distress and anxiety; but my informant did not hesitate to add that he believed she had only been half-hearted all along, and was a party to the plot----”

“But,” exclaimed the Queen, breaking the stunned silence, “how could I be at Tatarjé when I am here? What can they mean?”

“I am afraid Baroness Paula has played her part a little too well,” said Cyril. “I arranged with Baroness von Hilfenstein that in case of need her daughter should personate you, madame, for a short time, in order to give us a better opportunity of escape; but now it seems that we have been too clever by half. But no! it is impossible that they could have been deceived when it was daylight. They have taken advantage of our _ruse_ for their own purposes. You think that they have not discovered who took part in their Majesties’ flight, Paschics?”

“How could they, Excellency? You had left for Bellaviste, and I had gone to visit my relations. Fräulein von Staubach is the only person they could make sure of. But what I fear is that some chance--or possibly merely his own suspicions--may take our friend the sub-prefect to Tatarjé. When he heard what had happened he would instantly remember the English travellers, and his description of you would be recognised by some one, and the identification established by showing him one of your photographs. Then he would be after us like a bloodhound, enraged at having allowed such a prey to slip through his fingers.”

“And you think that the results might be unpleasant if he once came up with the abductors of his Majesty?” asked Cyril.

“Your Excellency, they are all to be brought back to Tatarjé, _dead or alive_; and I gathered from the shopkeeper that if the matter were left in the hands of the people they would take care that it should be dead.”

“Count!” said the Queen quickly, as Cyril sat with his chin on his hand, plunged in meditation. “Count!” she said again, as he did not answer her, “what are we to do?”

“I was just considering the advisability of our all going quietly to the next police-station and giving ourselves up, madame.”

“You would not do it?” she cried, her eyes dilating with horror.

“I am almost convinced that it is our proper course, madame. I have known all along that failure in this enterprise meant death to Paschics and myself; but I thought that you and Fräulein von Staubach would at any rate be free from bodily peril. But don’t you see the diabolical cunning of these fellows? It would be easy enough to get up a scuffle in arresting us, in which both of you might be killed by accident, and there they are, with the King in their hands! They have only to make a dramatic discovery of Baroness Paula’s imposture and proclaim it, convert the King, and, using him as a hostage, make terms with Drakovics. The ball is at their feet in that way. Whereas, if we surrender to the police, they are bound to protect you two ladies from the mob, whatever happens to us.”

“Yes, and what is to become of us?” cried the Queen, in a harsh, strident voice. “Is my boy to be given up after all to the tender mercies of these vile conspirators? After all that I have risked to save him, is he to be forced into an alien Church before he is old enough to make a choice? I tell you, he shall not be! Give yourself up at the nearest police-station, Count, if you like; I will kill my son and myself before you shall surrender us!” She made a sudden spring forward, and snatched the keen, broad-bladed Thracian knife from Cyril’s girdle, holding it poised ready to strike at her own heart.

“This is no time for scenes, madame,” said Cyril irritably. “We are not strolling players, but sensible people consulting together as to the best means of averting a great danger. Have the goodness to give me back that knife.”

He took it from her unresisting hand as he spoke, for his words and tone came like a dash of cold water on the fire of her passion, and she was already ashamed of the momentary frenzy which had seized her. But when he had returned the knife to its sheath, she caught his hand in both hers.

“Count, I have trusted my son’s life and honour and my own to you. You will not fail us?”

“I have no present intention of doing so, madame. Can you not trust me yet?”

His words stung her like the lash of a whip, and she drew apart with a crimson face, while Cyril turned to the other two.

“We are wasting time here,” he said. “Our business is to reach Ortojuk and cross the river as soon as we can. How we are to pass through the city I don’t know. We must find out when we get there.”

“I heard in the town that to-day is market-day in Ortojuk,” said Paschics, “so that the place will be full of peasants from the country round.”

“But we have seen no one coming from here.”

“No, sir; they left early in the morning. But we are sure to fall in with some coming from the more distant villages, and arriving later, and we must mingle with them, and so slip into the city.”

“Good; we will divide our party when we get a little nearer, so that there may be a chance that some of us, at least, may get through. Now, ladies, we will start, if you please.”

He took the little King in his arms, and they walked on resolutely and almost in silence for nearly two hours. The Queen was flagging painfully towards the end of the time; but she would have died rather than complain after the words Cyril had addressed to her, and she even objected when he called a halt on a grassy bank opposite the point at which a by-path joined the main road. He took no notice of her remark, however.

“We will join the next company of peasants that comes along,” he said, as Paschics distributed a meagre lunch from the food he had brought, “but we must divide. Remember that we are peasants from one of the mountain villages across the river, and have been to Tatarjé on a pilgrimage to the tomb of St Gabriel. Our aim on reaching the town is to get through it as quickly as possible, and cross the river; but we must meet at a spot near the bridge, and reconnoitre before venturing upon it. It is almost certain to be watched, and once upon it there would be no hope of escape.”

“Except the river!” said the Queen, the wild look returning to her eyes.

“Madame!” said Cyril reprovingly. “If your Majesty will leave the choice to me, I should prefer a boat. But as regards the order of our progress, I think that you, Fräulein, should go first, carrying his Majesty, and keeping his face hidden as far as possible. Paschics shall follow, not looking as though he had any connection with you, but ready in case you find yourself in any difficulty. The Queen and I will come last.”

“No!” cried the Queen, “I will not be separated from my boy. Why should Sophie carry him? It is my place, and I will do it.”

“Madame, it is impossible,” returned Cyril, not unsympathising, but unmoved. “You have been photographed so often holding his Majesty in your arms, and the photographs are so well known throughout the country, that the juxtaposition of the two faces would attract notice at once, and that would mean instant discovery. You must allow Fräulein von Staubach to take this post of honour, and remember that your own name is Anna, and that you are unfortunately dumb.”

The Queen subsided into instant silence, and Fräulein von Staubach and Paschics, at Cyril’s suggestion, moved farther along the bank, that they might not all appear to belong to the same party. He had heard the voices and laughter of a band of peasants as they came along the by-lane, and presently they emerged into the road, and took the direction of Ortojuk. It was evident that contingents from several villages were present, for they were divided into four or five parties, each of which kept religiously to itself, and discussed its own subjects of interest, the men in front and the women behind. Fräulein von Staubach, with the little King in her arms, found a welcome among the women of the first party, Paschics slouched with the gait of the professional vagrant into the ranks of the men of another, and Cyril and the Queen, rising slowly and painfully, as though scarcely able to walk any farther, found a place in the last. Cyril knew the temper of the Thracians too well to expect to be greeted with curiosity or even interest. One or two languid questions were put to him as to his starting-point and his destination; but the announcement that his home lay across the river chilled any semblance of friendliness that might otherwise have been forthcoming, and his companions returned to the discussion of their own village politics without paying any attention to his presence. The women behind were more inquisitive, and Cyril could hear them questioning the Queen. What was her name? where did she live? had she any children? was her husband kind to her?--questions to all of which she answered by shaking her head and pointing to her tongue. Then the women drew away from her, and whispered together, and again some of their words were audible to Cyril. Dumb, poor thing! and apparently deaf too. No wonder she seemed sad! And besides, it was quite clear that her husband beat her. Cyril wondered vainly from what premisses they deduced this inference; but there was no doubt that it seemed to satisfy them.

After another hour’s walking the walls and cupolas of Ortojuk came in sight, and Cyril felt an involuntary tightening of the throat as the band of peasants approached the gate. The guards gave them a very cursory inspection, however, being chiefly interested in inquiring whether they had passed or met on the road a posting-carriage containing some English travellers, who were said to be escaped criminals, and to have succeeded in eluding justice wonderfully hitherto. Cyril recognised the hand of the sub-prefect in this piece of intelligence, and it caused him additional uneasiness to remember that the official was probably in the town at this moment; but there was no opportunity for deliberation now. The sole way of escape lay through Ortojuk and across the river, and to pause or turn back was to be lost. He pushed his way through the gate with the rest, made sure that the Queen was close behind him, and submitted to be swept along in the company of his peasant-friends towards the market-place in the middle of the town, on the opposite side of which lay the streets leading down to the river.

It was now considerably past noon, and as many people were leaving the market as entering it; but the sellers, who had been disposed to take things easily and eat their dinners, were stimulated by the arrival of the fresh band of customers, and prepared to seize upon them with effusion. The company of peasants divided on reaching the market-place, each man seeking the special row of stalls of which the contents interested him most, while Cyril and the Queen pressed on across the open space in the midst, which had been used earlier in the day as a horse-fair, in the wake of a few earnest souls who desired first of all to perform their devotions at the great church on the opposite side. Some way in front of him Cyril could see the hat which Paschics was wearing, conspicuous among the caps of the other men and the handkerchiefs of the women, and he breathed more freely, for it seemed as though the first danger of Ortojuk were already past. But his joy was premature. From the direction of the municipal buildings, which lay close to the church, but at right angles with it, came three men on horseback, pushing their way roughly through the crowd, and he recognised them immediately as the sub-prefect and his two ragged followers. He had barely time to reflect that the sub-prefect was still searching for English travellers, and was looking far too glum to have met with any success in his efforts as yet, when the official rose in his stirrups and looked over the people’s heads. Whether it was that he regarded any wearer of a hat as a suspicious person, or that he actually recognised that which Paschics had on, he shouted to the crowd to make way, and riding up behind Paschics, tapped him smartly on the shoulder, asking him some trivial question at the same time. Involuntarily Paschics looked round and up at his questioner, who uttered an exclamation of delight.

“It is the courier who was with the English!” he said to his henchmen. “Arrest him instantly, and bring him before the mayor for examination.”

There was a wild rush to the spot on the part of the crowd, and as the people swayed hither and thither, Cyril caught a momentary glimpse of Fräulein von Staubach, with the child still in her arms, disappearing down the street next the church, which he had pointed out to her on the map as the nearest way to the river, without even turning her head to ascertain the cause of the commotion. He blessed her for the stolidity or presence of mind which had made her obey him so implicitly; but the next moment he was recalled to the perils of the position by feeling the Queen’s agonised grasp on his arm. Even now she remembered her part sufficiently not to attempt to speak, but her tortured eyes gazed into his in mute anguish.

“Maria and Sascha are safe,” he said to her, not venturing to use any other language than Thracian, lest the unwonted accents should attract the notice of the crowd, but trusting that she would be reassured by the tone, “but Nicolai is taken.”

Her grip on his arm relaxed, but she still held convulsively to his coat as he thrust himself into the crowd, battling apparently to gain a front place, but in reality to force his way across the market-place. There could be no safety or shelter until they had gained the narrow streets again. After a few moments, his struggles brought him fairly near the prisoner and his guards, and he heard Paschics protesting vigorously against his arrest, in scraps of various languages. But his words were not all those of protest.

“It is an infamy, an outrage! I will complain to the Italian Minister! _Don’t stay here; go on, and never mind me_.” This was in English. “By what right is a peaceable Italian citizen arrested when he has done no harm? _Get out of the city, and into the mountains; go quickly_. You shall pay finely for this! _Save them now; it is your only chance_. Oh, you dogs of Thracians, you shall see what will happen!”

He was dragged away, shouting as he went, and Cyril, obeying his injunctions, broke through the crowd, and hurried across the rest of the market-place, the Queen still clinging to him. It was impossible now to reach the street down which Fräulein von Staubach had disappeared, and they turned down another and hurried along, Cyril revolving in his mind the route they must take in order to reach the river.