he window she sought out the figure of Marlanx, and
pointed rigidly.

"Ah," groaned the old man, "they will not be driven back this time! They
will not be denied. It is the last charge! God, how they come! Our men
will be annihilated in--Where is he? Now! Ah, I see! Yes, that is he!
He is near enough now. I cannot miss him!"

Marlanx was leading his men up to the terrace. A howling avalanche of
humanity, half obscured by smoke, streamed up the slope.

At the top of the terrace, the Iron Count suddenly stopped. His long
body stiffened and then crumpled like a reed. A score of heavy feet
trampled on the fallen leader, but he did not feel the impact.

A bullet from the north wing had crashed into his brain.

"At last!" shrieked the old man at the window. "Come, Miss Tullis; my
work is done."

"He is dead, your Grace?" in low, awed tones.

"Yes, my dear," said the Duke of Perse, a smile of relief on his face.
"Come, let me escort you to the Prince. You have been most courageous.
Graustark shall not forget it. Nor shall I ever cease thanking you for
the service you have rendered to me. I have succeeded in freeing my
unhappy daughter from the vile beast to whom I sold her youth and beauty
and purity. Come! You must not look upon that carnage!"

Together they left the little room. As they stepped into the narrow hall
beyond they realised that the defenders had been driven inside the walls
of the Castle. The crash of firearms filled the halls far below; a
deafening, steady roar came up to them.

"It is all over," said the Duke of Perse, hobbling across the hall and
throwing open the door to a room opposite.

A group of terrified women were huddled in the far corner of the
spacious room. In front of them was the little Prince, a look of terror
in his eyes, but with the tiny sword clutched in his hand--a pathetic
figure of courage and dread combined. The Duke of Perse held open the
door for Loraine Tullis, but she did not enter. When he turned to call,
she was half way down the top flight of stairs, racing through the
powder smoke toward the landing below.

At every step she was screaming in the very agony of gladness:

"Stand firm! Hold them! Help is coming! Help is coming!"

A last look through the window at the end of the hail had revealed to
her the most glorious of visions.

Red and green troops were pouring through the dismantled gateway, their
horses surging over the ugly ground-rifts and debris as if posse