Chapter 13

could not refuse me if I came again. Dear, this is 'again.' The _Isis_ is a speck out there at sea awaiting a signal. Will you go? I have no throne to offer, but--"

"Don't," she cried, holding a hand over his lips. "For a minute--just for a little golden minute--let us forget thrones." Then as the furrow came back between her brows: "Oh, boy, it's my destiny to be always strong enough to resist happiness when I might have it by being less strong, and always too weak to bear bravely what must be borne--when it can't be helped."

He stood silent.

After a moment she went on. "And I love you. Ah, you know that well enough, but up there beyond your head which I love, I see the green and white and blue flag of Galavia which I hate, and destiny commands me to be disloyal to you for loyalty to it. On the eve of life imprisonment," she went on, clinging to him, "I have stolen away to play truant perhaps for the last time--still craving freedom, longing for you; and now I find freedom, and you, just to lose you again! I can't--I can't--yes--I can--I will!"

Suddenly he held her off at arms' length and looked at her with a strange wide-eyed expression of discovery.

"But," he cried with the vehemence of a sudden thought, "you are up here--safe! Safe, whatever happens down there! Nothing that occurs there can affect you!"

"Safe, of course," she spoke wonderingly. "What danger is there?"

The man turned. "For God's sake--let me think a moment!" He dropped on the pine needles and sat with his hands covering his face and his fingers pressed into his temples. She came over.

"Does that prevent your thinking?" she softly asked, dropping on her knees at his side and letting one hand rest on his shoulder.

For moments, lengthening into minutes, he sat immovable, fighting back the agonized and torrential flood of thought which burst upon him with unwarned temptation. The danger was not after all a danger to the woman he loved, but a menace to his enemy. She was safe three thousand feet above the threatening city. He had only to hold his hand, perhaps, for a half-hour; had only to keep her here and let matters follow their course.

He was not entertaining the thought, except to assure himself that he could not entertain it, but it was racking him with its suddenness. The King was there--in peril. She was here--safe. Insistently these two facts assaulted his brain.

"Pardon, _Señor_." Blanco broke noisily down through the pines and halted where the path emerged. For an instant he stood in bewildered surprise.

"Pardon, Your Highness--" he exclaimed, bending low; then, quenching the recognition in his eyes and assuming mistake, he laughed. "Ah, I ask forgiveness, _Señorita_. I mistook you for the Princess. The resemblance is strong. I see my error."

"Manuel!" Benton rose unsteadily and stared at the _toreador_ with a face pallid as chalk. He spoke wildly, "Quick, Manuel--have you learned anything?"

The Spaniard glanced inquiringly at the girl, and as Benton nodded reassurance went on in a lowered voice. Only fragments of his speech reached Cara's ears. Her own thoughts left her too apathetic to listen.

"The plan is this. It is to happen at the Fortress _do Freres_ this afternoon while the King inspects the arsenal. Now, in fifteen minutes!" He pointed down toward the city. "See, the cortége leaves the Palace! Lapas was to be here at the rock--the blessed Saints help him! He is hobbled to his telescope." Swiftly he rehearsed the story as it had come from the lips of Lapas.

Benton was studying the Duke's lodge with his glasses. "There is a flag flying on the west tower," he muttered.

He turned slowly toward the Princess. Outstanding veins were tracing cordlike lines on his temples. His fingers trembled as he focused the glasses.

Blanco looked slowly from one to the other. Suddenly he threw back both shoulders and his eyes grew bright in full comprehension of the situation he had discovered.

"_Señor!_" he whispered.

"Yes?" echoed the American in a dull voice.

"_Señor_--suppose--suppose I have confused the signals?" The tone was insinuating.

Benton's mind flashed back to a Sunday School class of his childhood and his infantile horror for the tale of a tempter on a high mountain offering the possession of all the world if only--if only--

He took a step forward. Speech seemed to choke him.

"In God's name!" he cried, "you have not forgotten?"

The Spaniard slowly shook his head and smiled. The expression gave to his face a touch of the sinister. "No--but it is yet possible to forget, _Señor_. I serve no King, I serve you. Sometimes a mistake is the truest accuracy. _Quien sabe?_"

The Andalusian looked at the girl who stood puzzled and waiting. "Sometimes in the _Plaza de Toros, Señor_," he went on, speaking rapidly and tensely, "the throngs cry, '_Bravo, matador_!' and toss coins into the ring. Yet in a moment the same throngs may shout until their throats are hoarse: '_Bravo, toro_!' A King is like a bull in the ring, _Señor_--he has a fickle fate. To me he is nothing--if it pleases them--it is their King--let them do as they wish." He shrugged his shoulders.

Benton straightened. "Manuel," he said with a strained tone, "the flag comes down."

The Andalusian smiled regretfully, and once more shrugged his shoulders.

"As you say, _Señor_, but are you sure you wish it so?"

"Manuel, I mean that!" said the American with a steadied voice. "And for God's sake, Manuel," he added wildly, "throw the rope over the gorge when you have done it!"

For a moment Benton stood rigid, his hands clenched together at his back as he watched the quick step of the Andalusian climbing to the flag-staff. At last he turned dully and looked down where he could see the royal cortége, not yet half-way along the road to the fortress, then he went over to the girl's side.

"Cara," he said, "I have earned the right to kiss you good-by."

"It's yours without the earning, but good-by--!" She shuddered. "What does it all mean?" she asked in bewilderment. "What was it you discussed?"

"Listen," he commanded. "Tell Von Ritz or Karyl that Lapas is a traitor and a prisoner in the observatory; that Louis is at his lodge and that the Countess Astaride is a conspirator in a plot to assassinate the King. Tell them that a percussion cap and key connect the magazines of _do Freres_ with the city."

The Princess looked at him with eyes that slowly widened in amazed comprehension. "I understand," she whispered. "And the flag--see, it is coming down--that means?"

He dropped on one knee and lifted her fingers to his lips. "It means that you are to be crowned Queen in Galavia to-morrow," he answered with a groan. "Long live the Queen!"