CHAPTER XXI.

A REVOLT OR A REVOLUTION?

While Caerleon and his two companions were lying bound on the grand staircase of the palace, under the charge of General Sertchaieff, Prince Otto Georg was aroused from sleep by a sudden incursion of armed men into his room. Sitting up, he blinked curiously at them as their leader turned on the electric light and came to his bedside.

“It is my duty to inform your Highness that you are my prisoner,” were the words which met his ears, and which were emphasised by the casual display of a revolver in the hand of the speaker.

“I do not think,” said the Prince, with extreme mildness, fumbling the while mechanically but unsuccessfully for his eyeglass, “that I have the pleasure of recognising your face, sir. When were you presented to me?”

“My name is O’Malachy,” returned the intruder, “and I am a captain in the army of King Peter II. of Thracia. It is unfortunate that your Highness’s visit to Bellaviste should chance to coincide with a slight readjustment of affairs here--the restoration of the rightful sovereign, and the overthrow of the tyranny under which the country has groaned for so long.”

“I assure you that I fully perceive my presence to be _de trop_ in these painful domestic circumstances,” said the Prince.

“Pray do not imagine for a moment that your Highness will be put to any inconvenience. You are the guest of King Peter instead of the usurper Carlino, that is all. I regret that I am obliged, merely as a matter of form, to post a sentry, by General Sertchaieff’s directions, in the corridor outside your door, with orders to fire if you attempt to leave your room.”

“In that case, you may be sure that I will not trouble the sentry,” said Prince Otto Georg, blandly. “But before I wish you good-night, Herr Captain, perhaps you will kindly enlighten me on one point. What of King Carlino? Did I understand you to say that he had abdicated the throne?”

“The propriety of doing so has not yet been represented to him,” returned Louis, “but there can be little doubt that he will find it advisable to yield quietly. A pistol at the head, Highness, is occasionally a powerful persuasive.”

“Thanks; I will not detain you longer,” and the Prince waved his hand politely, and laid his head on the pillow again. “If I know anything of my young friend Carlino, he will choose the pistol,” he mused, as Louis and his men left the room, and the former locked the door on the outside. For a moment the prisoner lay listening, while the sentry began his measured tramp up and down the corridor, then he sat up suddenly.

“Let me think,” he said to himself. “There may yet be a chance of doing something. For these plotters, there are two points of attack, Carlino and Drakovics. Both men must be in their hands to give them any hope of success. Now it is scarcely likely that their numbers are sufficient to allow them to seize both at once--that is, to obtain the mastery of the palace and the town at one blow. Which will they attempt to capture first? Drakovics is the most important--Carlino is a figurehead, comparatively speaking--but still, I think this is one of the cases in which the natural foolishness of mankind may safely be considered as a factor. The seizure of Carlino would appear a greater success at first--and it would give them the command of the palace, which they could defend against the town, while the town could not long hold out against a foe in possession of the palace. They have, then, concentrated their strength on the palace in order to make a prisoner of the King, and while they are doing their best to induce him to abdicate, it may yet be possible to warn Drakovics.”

Prince Otto Georg was out of bed now, and dressing in the dark with the speed and silence of an old campaigner. Hurrying into his boots and a fur-lined coat, he went to the window, drew up the blind noiselessly, and looked out.

“Snow!” he said. “So far, so good.”

He returned and took one of the sheets from the bed, then, with the utmost care, opened the window, which was fortunately a casement, and moved easily. As has been already mentioned, the room was in the front of the palace, and the window opened directly two or three feet above the great porch. Here Prince Otto had noticed the day before a hinged iron ladder, folded up and concealed by the coping from the view of any one below, but ready in case of fire. He climbed out upon the leaden roof of the porch and looked round. No light shone from any of the windows on this side of the building, and the great door was fast shut. The conspirators had made their entrance through the courtyard from the back, and the sentries who kept guard in front of the palace on ordinary occasions had forsaken their posts like the rest, while it had not occurred to Louis to place any others. There was not a soul to be seen. Prince Otto Georg drew out and unfolded the ladder, let it down over the side of the porch, and fastening it firmly at the top by the hooks attached to it, descended it in safety. It was impossible to remove it when he had reached the ground, and he could only hope that, as the side of the porch was in deep shadow, it might escape the notice of any one who might chance to come out at the front door.

“And now,” he said to himself, wrapping the sheet round him, “one may as well take every precaution, painful as it would be to be discovered in this costume. To think of my giving myself all this trouble for the sake of a man I saw for the first time the day before yesterday!”

Gathering up the ends of the sheet, he walked cautiously across the garden, indistinguishable among the whitened shrubs to any one looking out of the windows of the palace. But on arriving at the wall he found his further progress impeded, for there was a sentry on guard at the gate, and another at the corner overlooking the town. Prince Otto groaned mentally, but there was no help for it. Choosing a spot as remote as possible from both sentries, he climbed the wall by the aid of a tree which grew beside it, and threw his fur-lined coat over into the road. This done, he let himself drop from the branches, with considerably less agility and confidence in his own powers than he had felt at the time of his former exploit of the kind, but with happier results, for the coat broke his fall, and he rose unhurt, and after creeping a short distance in the shadow of the wall, turned down a side-street, and made the best of his way to M. Drakovics’s house. In spite of the highly logical reasoning with which he had started on his journey, he felt a good deal of misgiving as to whether he had been justified in calculating so confidently on human folly; and it was with unfeigned joy that on coming round the corner of the house he caught sight of the Premier standing at a window with a light behind him, and looking out at the river. To attract his attention was the work of a moment, and in obedience to the call M. Drakovics, in extreme astonishment, hastened to admit his visitor by a side-door. There was no time for lengthy explanations.

“There is a plot to depose the King and restore the house of Franza, headed by General Sertchaieff and Captain O’Malachy. They have seized the palace, and the King is in their hands. By the uniforms of the men whom I saw, I believe that both the palace and the city guard are implicated.”

After the first exclamation of surprise, M. Drakovics remained silent, passing his hand thoughtfully over his chin, until the Prince had finished speaking.

“When your Highness arrived, I was watching the Scythian steamer in the river,” he said. “Boats have been going to and fro between her and the quay all evening, and it struck me that something was wrong. No doubt they were bringing arms on shore.”

“What do you intend to do?” asked Prince Otto Georg, interrupting his meditation impatiently. “Have you men enough whom you can trust to defend this house, or the Hôtel de Ville?”

“The police are staunch,” returned M. Drakovics; “but to oppose them to the city guard would be simply massacre. There are not enough of them. No! Is your Highness prepared for flight? To reach the Carlino barracks is our only hope.”

“If you think we can do more good there, I am ready to go,” said the Prince. “But what about the city, and your adherents?”

“The conspirators will not injure the city, since they must be reckoning upon the townspeople as their chief support,” said M. Drakovics; “and if your Highness will wait for one instant, I will do what I can to warn the most prominent among the Carlinists.”

He turned aside to a speaking-tube, and after the preliminary whistle, began to converse with some person apparently at the other end of the house.

“A band of traitors have formed a plot to restore the Franza dynasty. They are in possession of the palace and of the King’s person, and will be here in a few minutes. Listen carefully to what I say. You will offer no resistance. No, I do not want your comments; listen. You will say that I am spending the night out of town. If you are further questioned, I trust to your ingenuity to account for my absence. Telephone now at once to the bureaus of all the other Ministers, except the Ministry of War, that the situation is to be accepted until I send word to the contrary. If the Sertchaieffs turn you out of your offices, submit; if not, go on as usual. Of course you will take no oath to Peter Franza, on pain of being dealt with as traitors when I return. Keep me informed at the Carlino barracks of anything you may discover with regard to the extent and progress of the conspiracy. You understand?”

The invisible auditor apparently answered that he did, for M. Drakovics replaced the plug in the mouth of the tube, and turned to Prince Otto Georg.

“I am sorry to have kept your Highness waiting so long. If you will come this way, we shall find my boat in its shed.”

They hurried down the garden to the river, and got out the boat. M. Drakovics, who was well accustomed to the water, took possession of both oars, remarking drily that there was no time to waste in giving rowing lessons just then. Prince Otto Georg pushed the boat off, and they began to drop down with the current, keeping in the shade of the bank. Presently M. Drakovics uttered a stifled exclamation, and the Prince, glancing over his shoulder, saw that the Scythian steamer had left her moorings, and was also dropping down the stream. It was not long before she passed them, the wash caused by her screw making the boat rock.

“If only we could intercept her under the barracks!” sighed the Premier. “But she is much more likely to intercept us. If they discover that I have escaped by water they will signal to her from the palace, and she will pick us up. We will row only as far as the outskirts of the city, and then walk to the barracks.”

This programme was carried out, rather to the relief of Prince Otto Georg, who was more at home on land than in a boat. A brisk walk of two miles, uninterrupted by any exciting incidents, brought them to the barracks, where they were duly challenged by a sentry, rescued by the guard, and conducted into the presence of the hastily aroused and arrayed commandant. M. Drakovics detailed what had happened, and the acting colonel, in response to his suggestion, immediately alarmed his force, and gave orders to prepare the place for defence in case of an attack from the town. This done, an informal council of war was called, composed of the chief officers of the regiment, Prince Otto, and the Premier.

“First of all, Colonel, are your men to be trusted?” asked M. Drakovics.

“They are devoted heart and soul to King Carlino,” was the soldier’s reply. “The news you brought has put them into a perfect frenzy.”

“Good,” said M. Drakovics. “I wonder whether the same can be said of the garrisons in the provinces? Perhaps you will have the goodness to telegraph inquiries to the fortresses with which you are in communication, Colonel?”

A young officer left the room to carry out the order, but returned with the news that no communication could be established with any other station.

“I thought so,” said M. Drakovics. “They have cut the telegraph wires. This plot is a larger thing than we anticipated, gentlemen. Be so good as to have a horse and a mounted escort prepared for me, Colonel. I must start before morning to rouse the country.”

“Pardon me,” interrupted Prince Otto Georg. “May I inquire whether you have any guns here, Colonel, that will carry as far as the town?”

“Alas, no!” replied the Colonel. “Our guns are very old-fashioned, and useful only for firing salutes. His Excellency the Premier will remember that there was some question lately of erecting regular fortifications upon this hill, and quartering a battery of garrison artillery here, but that the Minister for War opposed the suggestion on the ground of the shock such a proceeding would give to the susceptibilities of the people of Bellaviste.”

“I remember,” said M. Drakovics, curtly. “But what was your Highness’s idea?”

“It struck me that the threat of shelling the town might enable us to secure the King’s being given up to us unhurt,” said the Prince.

“Ah, General Sertchaieff knows our resources too well for that. But I very much fear that we may even now be too late to save the King.”

“What!” was the general cry. “You cannot imagine----”

“I do not for a moment believe that he will consent to abdicate, and I fear they will not keep him a prisoner, lest the Thracians should rally to release him.”

“But as a hostage for themselves in case of defeat?”

“They do not mean to be defeated. They are fighting with ropes round their necks, and to murder the King would be a plain declaration that they had left themselves no way of escape. They are well supported, but they know that there is no help for them if they fail.”

“Then you think that this conspiracy is incited by Scythia?”

“Not openly, of course. Scythia’s opportunity will come later, when she can throw troops into the country under pretext of curing disorder. No; she has merely allowed fugitives from us to take refuge and hatch their plots upon her soil, and there may possibly be a few retired Scythian officers who have returned with them. But Scythia has not authorised them to come, nor supplied them officially with money. If they succeed, she will reap the advantage of their labours; if they fail, she will disown them.”

“It is possible that there may be retired officers of other armies who will take the opposite side,” said Prince Otto Georg. “Allow me, your Excellency, to offer myself as a volunteer.”

“Your Highness is most welcome,” said the Premier. “You will not, I trust, involve yourself in any difficulty with Germany upon our account?”

“If the telegraph wires are cut, no remonstrance can reach me,” said the Prince, drily.

“In that case,” said M. Drakovics, “I may give utterance to my most earnest wish under the circumstances. I know you will agree with me, gentlemen, that we cannot do better than invite his Serene Highness to direct the military operations for the recovery of the capital. Our own Commander-in-Chief has betrayed his trust, and the officer next in seniority to him is a _protégé_ of his, the commandant of Tatarjé. Prince Otto Georg of Schwarzwald-Molzau is the pupil of Moltke, and has had a larger experience of war than any of us can boast. If you concur in my suggestion, I will draw up a formal invitation to him to take the command of the army before I start on my journey.”

The officers made no objection to the appointment, and indeed, in the helpless condition to which they were reduced by the cutting of the telegraph wires, and their ignorance of the state of feeling in the other garrisons, to say nothing of the treachery of their natural leader, they were only too glad to feel a strong hand at the helm. Moreover, they had feared that M. Drakovics might be about to install himself as Commander-in-Chief, and it was a relief to their minds to obtain a soldier instead. Prince Otto Georg’s appointment was therefore received with acclamations, and when M. Drakovics departed on his journey, he left him firmly established in his post.

To describe in any detail the doings of the next three days would be a task both long and dreary. As soon as it was light on the first morning, an officer, bearing a flag of truce, was despatched to the city to ask for an assurance of the safety of the King, but he was fired upon from the gate, and obliged to return without gaining any information. News on other points was, however, obtained in various ways. In spite of the absence of telegraphic communication, Prince Otto Georg received constant intelligence through messengers. From M. Drakovics’s confidential clerk in Bellaviste he learned, by means of a cipher letter carried by a fisherman, that nothing had been seen or heard of Caerleon, but that King Peter Franza was not among the returned exiles, having preferred to remain at Nice in trustful quietness while his faithful subjects regained his throne for him. General Sertchaieff’s brother, the late Premier, was, however, one of those who had returned, and was now at the head of affairs. He had taken possession of the Government offices, and had levied a certain sum of money from the town--a measure which had called forth much opposition from the people, although the city guard enforced the payment of the impost. News arrived also from M. Drakovics. The garrison of Feodoratz he found to be staunchly Carlinist, while that of Tatarjé was divided, and the division was carried to such a point that the detachment which sympathised with the house of Franza had already set out for Bellaviste with the commandant in order to join the insurgents. This was Prince Otto Georg’s opportunity. Posting his men in a wood on the road by which the mutineers were expected to arrive, he attacked them unawares as they straggled along in a disorderly crowd, captured the field-artillery they were bringing with them, and left only a few scattered fugitives to carry the news to Bellaviste.

This victory proved to possess a double value for the Carlinists. Not only did it deprive the rebels of the reinforcement they had been anxiously expecting, but the news of the battle, spreading with extraordinary rapidity from village to village, came in the nick of time to secure the allegiance of the people, who were bewildered by the sudden rush of events. The country gentlemen and their mountain clans required no such earnest of the eventual success of the Carlinist cause; but the bulk of the dwellers in the more settled districts were accustomed by long tradition to side with the party in power, and it is undoubtedly startling to retire to rest one night knowing that you have an idolised King on the throne, and a determined Minister exercising all the functions of government, and to find on awaking in the morning that your King has probably been murdered, and certainly been dethroned, while your Premier is stumping the country for support. In such a case it was difficult for the obedient partisans of “Government” to know exactly who the Government was, and Prince Otto Georg’s victory came just when it was needed to quiet their minds. He took his prizes back in triumph to the barracks, and the whole of the next day was spent in maturing and preparing with their aid his plan of attack on the city. At night M. Drakovics returned from his tour of the outlying districts, bringing with him a military contingent drawn from the faithful portion of the Tatarjé garrison, and an irregular force of mountain chiefs and their retainers.

“I half hoped that your Highness might have retaken the city by this time,” he said to Prince Otto Georg.

“I never strike until I am ready,” replied the Prince, and M. Drakovics deferred to his wider experience, nor did he, when the plan of attack had been explained to him, regret that he had done so.

The next morning--the third after the seizure of the palace--broke dull and hazy, a fact which Prince Otto Georg hailed with delight as of the greatest moment to his scheme. During the two days that he had held office he had stopped all the vessels which came up the river, so that he had now under the guns of the barracks a miniature fleet of small steamers and cargo-boats, from which he selected a certain number to convey the greater portion of the artillery which he had captured from the Tatarjé rebels. Each vessel mounted one gun, and carried a small number of soldiers, sufficient merely to work it and to defend the ship. Before it was light these ships were now towed up the river in perfect silence by boats with muffled oars, and anchored close under the batteries, the fire from which would, owing to this precaution, pass harmlessly overhead. The batteries had been constructed to command the deep channel in which alone warships could anchor, and their guns were hopelessly unable to reach the small river-steamers with their light draught of water. Secured in this way against interference from above, the vessels opened fire on the town, and maintained their position with ease, even beating off successfully a boat-expedition led against them by Louis O’Malachy. Although the effect of the firing was small, since Prince Otto Georg’s object was to frighten rather than hurt, it was evident that the rebels regarded the situation as serious, for they left the batteries which they had been engaged in constructing in other parts of the town, and began to throw one up at the end of M. Drakovics’s garden, with the intention of rendering the position of the vessels untenable. This gave the Prince the opportunity for which he had been waiting. He had very soon perceived that when the rebels had effected their great _coup_, and had telegraphed to the various European capitals the news of the revolution (as M. Drakovics informed him had certainly been done), and then cut the wires, they had worked themselves at least as much harm as their opponents. If they had managed to capture M. Drakovics as they had intended, all would have been well; but they had been baulked in this, and he, once outside the limited zone in which the wires were cut, had used the telegraph to call together his adherents from all parts of the country, while they had no means either of gaining information or of sending orders to their more distant supporters. Disappointed of the help they had expected from Tatarjé, their action would necessarily be partial and undecided, since they had no idea of the extent to which their views found support outside the capital, although it was evident that the country had not risen in their favour as they had anticipated. It was true that they had made an attempt at a cavalry reconnaissance the day before; but the troopers had been driven back into the town in disorder with the help of the guns taken from the Tatarjé contingent, and at the present moment every one was far too much engrossed by the attack on the river-face to think about obtaining information on the land side.

Once assured that his naval demonstration was successful, Prince Otto Georg led the main body of his little army, together with two guns which he had reserved for this purpose, round to the other side of the city, remote alike from the river and the Carlino barracks. By taking advantage of every scrap of cover afforded by the woods and rising ground, he succeeded in performing this manœuvre without its being perceived by the townspeople, the attention of whose leaders was completely occupied by the attack on the river-face. Bringing his guns into position on the edge of a wood, he formed up his men in readiness to advance, and opened fire on the gate nearest him, following up the first effective shot by an immediate rush forward. The small guns mounted on the wall, and served by half-hearted townsmen, who were by no means anxious to provoke an artillery fire which would probably bring their houses about their ears, had little result in checking the advance of the besiegers, and before the rebel leaders could be recalled from their futile labours on the other side of the city, the gate was down and the Carlinists were pouring in.

Prince Otto Georg smiled grimly as he watched the operations from a point of vantage. “Never trust citizens to defend their town,” he said. “They surrendered Strasburg.”

The worst of the fighting was yet to come. From house to house and from street to street Prince Otto Georg’s soldiers made their way, with their ranks at one moment swelled by a band of welcoming sympathisers, at another thinned by a stream of fire from some public building turned into a fortress, and fiercely defended by desperate men, who had rushed from the river-face to make a last effort for their lives. While one party of the assailants was making for the palace, two others were gaining possession of the walls, and turning the guns there upon the quarters where the strongest resistance was experienced; and the Prince himself appeared to be ubiquitous, alike in keeping up communications with the strong force he had left to hold the gate, guarding against a flank attack by an overlooked force of the enemy, and moderating the fierceness of the strife by proclaiming, whenever he could get a hearing, quarter to those who were willing to lay down their arms. After all, the bulk of the townspeople were very glad to submit to the besiegers. The exactions of the rebels had not endeared them to any one within the walls, and there had been rumours of what was to happen to the faithless city on King Peter’s return which caused most people to tremble for their property, if not for their lives. Only the men of the city guard, knowing, as M. Drakovics had said, that they fought with ropes round their necks, persisted in maintaining the fight, making a stand at every available point, and at last crowding with their leaders into the palace for a final effort.

Even now, if it had been possible to move the great guns from the river batteries to the palace, and turn them against the town, the result of the day’s fighting might have been different; but time and appliances were alike wanting for this operation, and after a short resistance the wall of the garden was scaled, and the rebels made their last stand in the palace itself.

“Take them alive! Take them alive!” had been the reiterated order of Prince Otto Georg and M. Drakovics. “_They know what has become of the King_,” and the Carlinists, mad with rage and fight though they were, did their best to obey. When the stubborn contest ended at last, Ivan Sertchaieff, the Premier, lay dead on the grand staircase where Caerleon had been taken prisoner; his brother, less fortunate, was in the hands of the victors, and with him were Louis O’Malachy and about a score of others. The civilians of the party were committed to the custody of the police, who had been imprisoned in their barracks by the rebels, and had done good service by breaking out during the street-fighting and joining the Carlinists. A summary court-martial sat immediately, under the presidency of Prince Otto Georg, to try such of the prisoners as had belonged to the army, while M. Drakovics, who had fought his way in with the troops, searched the palace and interrogated the other captives as to the King’s whereabouts.

What the Prince was chiefly anxious to discover from the men before him was the extent to which the disaffection which had led to the rebellion had spread in the army and in the country, and also whether Scythia had committed herself to any definite encouragement of the scheme; but from General Sertchaieff he could gain nothing but a denial of the competency of the tribunal to try him, from Louis a declaration that he was a Scythian subject, and from the rest more or less vehement protestations of devotion to the house of Franza and of their readiness to die in its service. The competence of a court presided over by the Commander-in-Chief to try officers undoubtedly belonging to the army could not be seriously questioned, and the trial proceeded with due ceremony until it was interrupted by a tremendous uproar outside the hall. Prince Otto Georg ordered the sentries to clear the approaches to the court; but the moment that the door was opened a motley throng of Carlinists streamed in, with M. Drakovics, wrathful and agitated, at their head.

“What is the meaning of this unseemly proceeding?” inquired Prince Otto Georg. “I am surprised that you should so far forget the gravity of the occasion as to interrupt the trial.”

He was addressing himself to M. Drakovics; but his words were drowned by the excited crowd, who pressed about the prisoners with shouts and gestures of rage, and were only prevented from rushing upon them by the exertions of the guards.

“Where is the King?” they cried. “Give us back our Carlino!”

“Gentlemen,” said M. Drakovics, addressing the officers who formed the court, “I am grieved beyond measure to tell you that we have searched the palace and a great part of the city, but we can find no trace of our beloved sovereign.”

General Sertchaieff smiled sardonically. “It is scarcely likely that you will,” he said.

“Great heaven!” cried Prince Otto Georg; “they have murdered him, then!”

“You will not find it easy to bring him back,” went on General Sertchaieff. “Ask Captain O’Malachy if you wish to hear what has become of your Carlino.” It was evident from his tone that he anticipated a surprise for his hearers; but it was also clear that when Louis spoke he received one himself. While the rapid dialogue was in progress, Louis had been weighing the situation in his mind. Would truth or falsehood serve the cause best at this juncture? The fate of his comrades and himself was already sealed, and nothing that he could say or refrain from saying would avail to save any of them. But what of that? It was still possible to produce an impression which might go far to effect the object aimed at by the revolt. Were Caerleon alive, the Drakovics party would rally around him in irresistible strength; if he were dead, the weary, dispiriting search for a King must begin again, with all the jealousies and strifes it involved, and the opportunity it offered to Scythia for armed intervention. He hesitated no longer.

“You will certainly consult the best authority,” he said, sarcastically. “I had the honour of being present during his Majesty’s last moments.”

A howl of rage went up from the crowd of Carlinists, and the rest of the prisoners repressed a start of astonishment.

“You killed him?” was the cry. Louis bowed calmly.

“That duty fell to me,” he said.

“But how? where?” asked many voices.

“I took him on board the Scythian steamer,” returned Louis, “with his brother and his English servant. They were all bound. I stabbed them one after the other, and threw their bodies into the river.”

“But why on board the steamer?” asked Prince Otto Georg.

“Because it was feared that some of our less ardent supporters might object to Carlino’s death if it was carried out before their eyes,” said Louis.

“You give us to understand that you murdered three unarmed men in cold blood?” said Prince Otto Georg. “This is inconceivable. Human nature is not capable of so horrible an atrocity, though why you should attempt to deceive us in such a matter I cannot imagine. You are not in earnest?”

“Am I likely to tell you anything but the truth at such a moment, and on such a subject?” retorted Louis. “Your Carlino is dead, and I killed him. I have not yet heard any of my comrades,” he glanced round at his fellow-prisoners, “deliver the dying message with which he charged them. I am the only honest one among them, after all. He wished it to be known that he chose death rather than abdication. Well, he had it.”

“You--a soldier,” said the Prince to General Sertchaieff, “and connived at the commission of this dastardly murder?”

“We did not expect to make our revolution with rose-water,” returned the ex-Minister. “Our intention was to surprise Carlino, and to force him to abdicate by means of threats, if possible; but Captain O’Malachy had strict orders to kill him if any resistance or rescue were attempted, and he did so.”

“I should wish to adjourn the court,” said Prince Otto George. “I do not feel that I can conduct business properly after receiving this terrible news.”

“Then the mountain men will break in and tear the prisoners to pieces,” said M. Drakovics, in a low voice, glancing at the crowd of excited peasants who stood with weapons in their hands, muttering imprecations and glaring at the self-accused murderers. “I entreat your Highness to bring the trial to a close, so that it may be evident that the murderers will meet the punishment demanded by their crimes, and then to come with me to break the news to the people.”

Prince Otto Georg turned impatiently to the papers on the table before him, and M. Drakovics succeeded in inducing his followers to leave the hall by assuring them that summary justice would be done by the court-martial. Indeed, the evidence was so clear that there could be no doubt of the result of the trial. Even leaving out of sight the added atrocity of the murder of the King, the prisoners had committed a sufficient number of crimes against both military and civil law to cause them to incur the death-penalty several times over. There was not a dissentient voice among the members of the court, and the President pronounced the sentence with a sensation not far removed from loathing.

“I never saw a man so bloodthirsty as that O’Malachy,” he said to himself as he left the chair after the prisoners had been removed. “I believe that the murder was his doing altogether, for Sertchaieff seemed at first as much surprised as I was. I wonder whether there could have been any truth in that story about a sister of his that got into the Scythian papers? It would account for his peculiar ferocity.”

It would have afforded Louis additional gratification had he known that the apparent purposelessness of his conduct had cast a slur upon Caerleon’s name, but he was very well content as things were. His was not the part of the informer, who is said to be present, by some strange fatality, whenever two Irishmen are plotting together, and through whom the best-laid schemes go wrong; on the contrary, he had carried out his share of the conspiracy with triumphant success, and even at the bitter end had turned defeat into victory. Of this character were his exultant musings as he was led away with his companions, but in indulging such hopeful anticipations he was reckoning without his host. M. Drakovics’s proverbial resourcefulness had not forsaken him at this crisis, and from the moment of hearing the fatal news of Caerleon’s death he had been preparing a _coup d’état_. When Prince Otto left the hall in which the court-martial had been held, he found that he was awaiting him, and the two men rode down the steep street with their escort to the Hôtel de Ville, in the square in front of which were assembled the loyal townspeople and the irregular troops. A momentary cheer saluted the Premier and his companion as they made their appearance on the balcony; but the news of the King’s murder had spread among the people, and the feeling of mourning was universal. The soldiers alone greeted Prince Otto Georg with shouts when M. Drakovics presented him to the crowd as the saviour of Thracia, and he retired into the background while his companion came forward again to speak. The crowning triumph of the great orator’s eloquence was to be obtained to-day, and the lack of responsiveness among his audience only served to stimulate him to surpass himself.

He began his speech by paying a well-deserved tribute to the troops, both regular and irregular, who had fought so bravely in crushing the revolt. Their courage and endurance had been beyond all praise; but they had been sustained by the hope of rescuing their beloved King from the hands of the dastardly conspirators who sought to deprive him of his throne. The struggle was successful, the victory was won, but, alas! success had come too late. Their young sovereign, who had given up the splendid prospects which belonged to him in his own country in order to lead the forlorn hope in Thracia, had chosen to die rather than forsake the trust he had received from the people. He was the last martyr on the glorious roll of Thracian independence. Let them look around them. There on the hill above them was the sacred shrine at which, that very day, Carlino was to have received the crown of Thracia, and there also was the palace in which he should have lived for many happy years, beloved and honoured. But beside them there flowed the river, accursed from that day forward, whose waters had rolled over his blood-stained corpse, and there remained yet in the land of the living the miscreants who had not scrupled to murder in cold blood a bound and defenceless man.

The yell of mingled rage and grief which arose from the people at these words rendered it impossible for the speaker to proceed with his oration for some minutes; but at last he succeeded in restoring comparative silence, broken only by the sobs of the women. What now remained for Thracia? he demanded. She had lost her place among the nations; she could not protect the stranger who had come at her call to assist her. But at least she could avenge his death, both on the traitors who had sprung from her own soil and on the perfidious nation which had stooped to use such instruments to further its shameful ends. With this object in view let her proceed without an hour’s delay to the election of another king, and who could be better fitted for the post than the illustrious Prince who had been raised up by Providence to help her in her utmost need, and who had striven side by side with her own sons for the rescue of Carlino? That Prince, he went on, checking by an imperative gesture the protest which Prince Otto Georg sprang forward to make, had shrunk once already from accepting the throne, owing to a sensitive modesty which did him all honour, but this was no time for holding back. Thracia appealed to him to accept the place left vacant by the man who had been moved by its very difficulties to undertake it,--would the German hang behind where the Englishman had pressed forward? Let the Prince make his decision, knowing, as he did, that his election would be hailed with delight by the country, and welcomed by all Europe with the exception of Scythia, and let him devote his life to the avenging of Caerleon’s murder.

Prince Otto Georg yielded. In after days he complained that he had been carried away by the fervid rhetoric of M. Drakovics and the frenzied enthusiasm of the people; but he accepted the throne in the excitement of the moment, although with a slight mental reservation respecting the last clause of the Premier’s invitation, and the proviso that his election should be approved by the Powers. About this condition there proved to be little difficulty. The Roumi envoy, who had been on his way to attend Caerleon’s coronation when the rebellion broke out, had discreetly remained upon the frontier in order to see to which side victory would ultimately incline, and the Premier hastened to obtain his good offices as an intermediary with Czarigrad. M. Drakovics had already closed the post-offices throughout the country in the name of the public safety, and forbidden the issue of passports to foreign newspaper correspondents, so that Thracian affairs were enveloped in the most profound mystery, while secret messages flashed about among the Powers. Prince Otto Georg’s elevation to the throne seemed to commend itself to every one as an excellent solution of the Thracian difficulty. Pannonia and the house of Schwarzwald-Molzau welcomed the election as a set-off to the rebuff sustained by their joint diplomacy in the matter of Princess Ottilie’s marriage, while the authorities of Prince Otto’s own country were not sorry to find in it a way of escape from the intricate international questions involved in his unauthorised connection with the suppression of the revolt. Even Scythia, whether because she judged it well to remain for a time in the background after the failure of the conspiracy, or because, having given in her approval to Prince Otto Georg’s candidature two years ago, she considered that it would appear inconsistent to draw back now, offered no objection to his accepting the crown, while bright visions of a Scythian princess seated beside him on the Thracian throne at some future date began to float before the eyes of the Pavelsburg authorities. M. Drakovics hurried back to Bellaviste in triumph, and the new King was crowned the very next day, with the regalia prepared for his murdered predecessor. The palace was still filled with the traces of the devastating fight which had been waged within its walls, and the chapel of St Peter itself had not escaped scathless, while the people who looked on at the ceremony had scarcely a cheer to spare for their new sovereign, since their thoughts were all with Carlino. But as though to give point to the words with which M. Drakovics had ushered in the new reign, the guns which announced the accession of King Otto Georg thundered forth also the knell of the traitors who had conspired against Caerleon.