“And so many are dead, Desmond, have died for me. My heart is heavy and full of tears, only—only there is you, and you are here, and, God forgive me, there is joy in my soul because of this.”
It was a strange, new thing for him to see Maritza weep.
“And Frina. Frina gave her life for mine, Desmond,” she whispered.
He did not speak, but his fingers closed over hers, and they were both silent.
“They are looking for us in every corner of the city,” she said presently.
“How did you escape?” he asked.
“I hardly know. Stefan caught me up and ran with me. I strove to free myself in vain. I pleaded, I threatened, but it was of no use. I was a child in those great arms of his. He brought me here. Lord Cloverton was very kind.”
“Where is Stefan now?”
“Here still. He is going with us. Lord Cloverton says that you will not go; but you will, Desmond, won't you? I want you to take me away, anywhere, Desmond—anywhere away from Sturatzberg.”
“I would not go, my darling, because you were not with me. When you came in I was making up my mind to drop from the window that I might look for you; but now—”
“My poor love, you are weak; how could you?”
“My sword arm is whole still, though it is tired—very tired.”
“It shall rest now,” she said, taking it and pressing it to her breast. “Desmond.”
“Yes, dearest.”
“Only once have you said to me: 'I love you.' Never yet have I been in your arms. Put this one-this strong one—round me now. Say 'I love you.' Tell me. Oh, how often have I longed to hear those words from your lips.”
“I love you, Maritza, my Princess,” he whispered, and he kissed her lips as a little contented sigh escaped them.
“How beautiful you are!” he went on, after a moment's pause. “It is strange, Maritza, but since that morning on the downs I have never seen you dressed as a woman.”
“Once, Desmond.”
“Ah, then you wore a mask.”
“And looked through it with eyes of love, Desmond.”
“Even then?”
“Yes, even then. These are borrowed clothes. Lord Cloverton persuaded someone to lend them. He was nervous until I became a woman. Grigosie is dead, Desmond.” “Is there no regret in your heart?”
“None,” she answered.
“You lose a kingdom, Maritza.”
“It is well lost for love, Desmond. I have found my king.”
She was kneeling beside the couch when Lord Cloverton entered.
“Well, Captain Ellerey, are you ready to go?”
“How can I thank you, my Lord?”
“By going,” the Ambassador answered, with a smile. “Sight of the Princess is evidently good medicine for you. You have both given me many anxious hours.”
“You must forgive us,” said Maritza.
“Princess, I am an old man; I envy my countryman his youth. But for all that, I shall find my work in Sturatzberg easier when I know you two rebels are safely over the frontier.”
Dr. Goldberg came in, and with him Captain Ward.
“I owe you much,” said Ellerey, grasping the latter's hand. “Thank you.”
“It is but repaying the debt I incurred on the night of the duel, Captain Ellerey.”
“The carriage is waiting,” said Lord Cloverton. “It is in the inner courtyard. We must be silent, for the escort, which waits without, has no knowledge that I am accompanied. Now, Doctor, wrap up your patient, and help him out. Here is a cloak for you, Princess. You travel with light luggage, but that, I am afraid, cannot be helped.”
“And Stefan?” asked Ellerey.
“Goes with us. He is waiting. Come!”
The travelling carriage was large and roomy, and they entered it in silence in the inner courtyard. Stefan was waiting, and saluted Ellerey, but neither of them spoke then. The windows were drawn up, the blinds closed, and then they moved out. There was a sharp word of command as they passed into the street, and so, escorted by the King's troops, the man and woman who were being searched for in every corner of the city passed out by the Northern Gate and through the Bois, and were presently driving along the Breslen road.
Lord Cloverton's arrangements had been very carefully and completely made. In Breslen the carriage drove into an inn yard, the escort remaining without, and in the yard another carriage was waiting. The driver was in possession of the papers necessary for the journey, and, unless something unforeseen should happen, nothing could prevent the fugitives reaching the frontier in safety.
“Wait until I have gone,” said Lord Cloverton, “and then start. Bon voyage,” he whispered, as he raised Maritza's hand to his lips. “I hope we shall meet again under happier circumstances—in England, it may be. Your marriage will render a very charming Princess powerless to disturb the peace of Europe.”
“Thank you a thousand times,” said Ellerey. “You have given me more than life—happiness.”
When the Ambassador had gone, Ellerey turned to Stefan.
“What can I say to you, old comrade?”
“Better say nothing, Captain. I'm nearer to tears just now than I ever was in my life.”
“I had forgotten,” said Ellerey; “you are leaving Sturatzberg.”
“Oh, they're not tears of that kind,” said Stefan. “I think they're happy ones, but having shed so few I'm a poor judge. I only know, Captain, it's good to be beside you again. I know it's good to have served you, and—and Grigosie, the name will slip out—and if you want to say anything, just promise that you won't send me packing as soon as we get free. I can turn my hand to other things beside soldiering.”
“You shall stay with us, Stefan,” said Maritza.
“I don't think I could have known any real woman before,” the soldier muttered.
Ten minutes later they had passed out of the inn yard, and were galloping toward the frontier.
And in the midst of his escort, Lord Cloverton was riding back to Sturatzberg. So far he had succeeded, but he knew how often some little thing destroyed the best-laid scheme. He drove direct to the palace, and was admitted to the King. Queen Elena was with him.
“Do you bring us news of this countryman of yours, my Lord?” said the King, and he spoke somewhat curtly.
“Or of Princess Maritza?” said the Queen. “It is very strange that neither of them can be found.”
“So they have not been found yet?” said the Ambassador.
“No, my Lord; but they will be. I have it on good authority, only a moment ago, that they are even now between Breslen and the frontier. It was cleverly conceived, Lord Cloverton, but it is not too late to stop them,” and the King's hand was raised to strike a gong to summon a messenger.
“One moment, your Majesty.”
“Why delay?” exclaimed the Queen impatiently. “Every moment is of value. Five minutes have slipped away already since this news was brought to you. Telegraph to the frontier at once. I shall not rest until Maritza is taken.”
“And De Froilette, your Majesty?” said the Ambassador quietly.
“He is dead.”
“I know,” was the answer. “Had he been alive, he too would have been hurrying toward the frontier. Your Majesty should rejoice in his death. He was not a man to be trusted.”
“My Lord, you tell us only what we know,” said the Queen.
“A little more, I think, your Majesty,” was the quiet answer. “A servant of mine saw Monsieur De Froilette struck down by Captain Ellerey, and, knowing the man, searched him. He carried much that was incriminating upon him.” And then, turning to the King, he added: “Would it not be well to let Captain Ellerey and the Princess go?”
“What do you mean?” asked the King angrily.
“Lord Cloverton only seeks to delay that message,” said the Queen. “Send it. Some of your enemies are dead, but these two escape.”
“And must be allowed to escape,” said the Ambassador.
&
nbsp; “Do you threaten, my Lord?” said the King.
“I ask the Queen to support me with regard to these fugitives.”
“And I refuse,” she answered. “Send the message.”
“Will your Majesty show the King the bracelet of medallions?” said Lord Cloverton.
The King rose angrily.
“Once before, my Lord—” and then he stopped.
“Send the message,” cried the Queen.
“And then look to your own safety,” said Lord Cloverton, turning sharply to the King. “Russia has plotted against you; her troops lie still on the frontier, and treachery has been beside you. By a strange chance the plot miscarried, but it was near to success. This was found in Jules de Froilette's possession,” and he held up the bracelet.
The King looked at it. The Queen drew in her breath sharply, and bit her lip until the blood came. “What is the meaning of this?” said the King, turning to her after a pause.
“At a fitting time I will answer,” she said.
The King sat down heavily in his chair.
“I will send no message,” he said.
Lord Cloverton bowed, and placing the bracelet carefully on the table, silently left the apartment.
CHAPTER XXIX. AFTER WAR—PEACE
Peaceful times had fallen upon Wallaria. It is whispered sometimes that the relations between the King and the Queen are not of the happiest; but who that would publish such a statement can possibly know the truth with any certainty. It is a fact that the country is better governed. At nights the streets of Sturatzberg are far safer than they were formerly, and the brigands in the hills have been dispersed. Some political malcontents among them have been banished, but many have been pardoned, and go in and out of the city unmolested. The Court is still a brilliant one, but in these days there is no woman there as beautiful as Frina Mavrodin, and Lord Cloverton is no longer British Ambassador. He has been transferred to Paris, and this fact alone is sufficient to show that the Powers are more agreed concerning Wallaria. A less experienced man than Lord Cloverton is now at the Embassy, and has had no such troublous times to steer through as fell to his predecessor.
Yet Princess Maritza is not forgotten in Sturatzberg, and for a small bribe many a man will tell the traveler her romantic history, and will perhaps whisper in his ear, as though the spirit of revolution were not altogether dead in him:
“I was among those who fought that day in the Grande Place.” So long as they live, Desmond Ellerey and his wife will not forget that day, but they seldom speak of it. It is quite certain that Maritza has never regretted the kingdom she lost. Love has crowned her life, and she is satisfied.
Long since has it been known that the story which drove Ellerey away from his country was a lie, told and substantiated by the real culprit to shield himself. By this man's tardy confession, Ellerey's character was cleared, and many expected him to return to England at once, but he did not do so. When his brother died, and he became Sir Desmond Ellerey, he did return for a while, however, staying for some time with his old and staunch friends, Sir Charles and Lady Martin, and his beautiful wife caused a sensation. She visited her old school, and she stood with her husband upon the downs on the very spot where they had first met. But England was not for them, they decided, and their permanent home is in Italy, in sight of dancing blue waters and under a blue sky.
And in this Italian home is Stefan, whose chief duty seems to consist in worshipping Ellerey's small son, who is going to be a soldier when he grows up and win a wife like his mother, just as his father did. It is Stefan who tells him stories of the past, Stefan who fashions wooden swords for him, and who would willingly lay down his life for his father, mother, or son.
“Once I didn't care for anybody,” Stefan said to the lad one day.
“You didn't know father then.”
“No; and for a long time after that I hated women.”
“Until you met my mother?” asked the boy.
“Yes; and until I knew Grigosie.”
“Grigosie? Who was Grigosie?”
“She was a Princess.”
“My mother is a Princess. Father says so.” “And some day, when you are old enough, he will tell you all about Grigosie, too, and how it is you are not a king.”
“Mother sometimes calls me her little king,” said the boy.
“I don't wonder. Now it's time to mount and charge home.”
So the little warrior is quickly lifted on Stefan's shoulder, and with waving wooden sword, and with curls flying, is whirled off on his willing charger.
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