s, and his passion grew, rather than died.

He had made further love to her then, urged her to go away with him on
a journey to the eastern end of the kingdom, would, indeed, have
compromised her hopelessly. But, young as she was, she had had courage
and strength; perhaps shrewdness too. Few women could have resisted him.
He was gentleness itself with her, kindly, considerate, passionate. But
she had kept her head.

And because she had kept her head, she had kept him. Through his many
lapses, his occasional mad adventures, he had always come back to her.
Having never possessed her, he had always wanted her. But not enough,
she said drearily to herself, to pay the price of marriage.

She was fair enough to him. Nothing but a morganatic marriage would be
possible, and this would deprive his children of the throne. But less
than marriage she would not have.

The old Queen died. Her cousin retired to the country, and raised
pheasants for gayety. Olga Loschek's visits to Karnia ceased. In time a
place was made for her at the Court of Livonia and a brilliant marriage
for her was predicted. But she did not marry. Now and then she retired
to the castle near the border, and Karl visited her there. And, at last,
after years, the inevitable happened.

She was deeply in love, and the years were passing. The burden of
resistance had always been on her, and marriage was out of the question.
She was alone now. Her father had died, and the old aunt was in
seclusion in a nunnery, where she pottered around a garden and knitted
endless garments for the poor.

For a time Olga had been very happy. Karl's motor crossed the mountains,
and he came on foot through the woods. No breath of scandal touched her.
And, outwardly, Karl did not change. He was still her ardent lover. But
the times when they could meet were few.

And the Court of Livonia heard rumors--a gamekeeper's daughter, an
actress in his own capital, these were but two of the many. Olga Loschek
was clever. She never reproached him or brought him to task. She had
felt that, whatever his lapses, the years had made her necessary to him.

The war that followed the truce had seen her Karl's spy in Livonia. She
had undertaken it that the burden of gratitude should be on him--a false
step, for men chafe under the necessity for gratitude.

Then had come another peace, and his visit to the summer palace. There
he had seen Hedwig, grown since his last visit to lovely girlhood, and