ore leaving it. In that case we could scarcely fail to be
captured. My father pointed this out to the innkeeper, who he still
regarded as the leader of the party.

"We must hope for the best, your Majesty," that stalwart individual
replied. "They have not caught us yet."

I can recall the whole scene now--the white trees, the snow-covered
ground, and the anxious faces of our party, as we clustered together in
the most sheltered spot we could find. While we were deliberating, snow
once more began to fall in heavy flakes. It was the only touch that was
wanting to complete our misery, and I heard my mother give a heavy sigh
as if her endurance were giving way under the strain placed upon it.

"Go back again," said my father to the little man, "and watch them
closely. As soon as they have finished their meal and you are in a
position to divine their intentions, return and tell us, in order that
we may know how to act."

The man slipped away in the same noiseless fashion as before, and once
more we settled ourselves down to wait. The snow was falling thicker and
faster every minute, and before the man had been absent ten minutes his
footmarks were completely hidden. Of all the trials to which we were
subjected during those three terrible days, I fancy that time of waiting
was the worst. We were cold, tired, hungry, and in immediate danger.
Small wonder, therefore, that everything seemed hopeless to us. Years
afterwards, when I spoke of it to my mother, she confessed that, at the
time, she did not expect to cross the Border alive. Hitherto, she had
borne up as bravely as any woman could do; now, however, her fortitude
gave way. To me it was all one long bewilderment. Accustomed as I was to
be treated as a king's son, used to all the luxuries that rank and
wealth could bestow, I could only imperfectly realise the change in our
position. The guard turned out and saluted me when I entered the palace
gates, my name was even associated with one of the crack
regiments--Prince Paul's Own Hussars. How was it then, I asked myself,
that the self-same troops were engaged in hunting instead of protecting
us? It was a riddle I could not answer, try how I would, and my mother's
explanation, that it was because they hated her, served to intensify
rather than to dispel my bewilderment. I was about to interrogate Max,
on whose wisdom I was accustomed to rely, on the subject, when we were
suddenly called to action. Running as fast as his sh