ble to get rid of those who cater for a cheap
notoriety. We shall know how to deal with you! I am the colonel of the
Guard. Are you aware that it is in my power to break you? Aye, like
that!' he smashed his riding-whip across his knee as he spoke, and
flinging away the pieces, he added, 'And by the powers above us, I
will!'

Rallywood saluted and rode away. At once the foresters fell to work
feverishly to fill in the earth over Colendorp's body.

Once more through the falling snow Rallywood looked back. Sagan's great
horse stood across the low mound of the finished grave.

CHAPTER XXI.

LOVE'S BEGGAR.

A threat from Count Simon of Sagan was not to be lightly regarded at any
time, but within the boundaries of his own estates it appreciably
discounted the chances of life. Therefore Rallywood, instead of
returning to the Castle, headed for the block-house by the Ford. The
incident which had just taken place probably meant the closing of his
career in the army of Maasau. Personal power survived in its full
plenitude in the little state, which had never made any pretence of
setting up a representative government; the Maasaun people were as mute
as they had been in the dark ages and appeared content to remain so.

The future which lay before Rallywood on that winter evening was not
enlivening. Less than three months ago he would have been half amused at
such a conclusion to his military life as offering an answer to a
perplexed question. But since then much had happened. That ill-luck
should overtake him when hope was at its keenest, and when his relations
both with the Guard and the Duke had reached a promising point, struck
him hard. If he left the Guard he must also leave Maasau. He had told
himself a hundred times that the daughter of the Chancellor was far
beyond his winning, yet the certainty of losing her, which this last
development of events involved, was the worst blow of all. To stare an
empty future in the face is like looking into expressionless eyes where
no soul can ever come.

He little guessed how close upon him were the critical moments of life,
or how much of emotion and difficulty and strenuous decision were to be
crowded into the next few days. A whirlpool of events was drawing him to
its raging centre. The death and the burial of Colendorp, Sagan's
resentment and his ruthless scheming were all eddies of circumstance
circling inward and carrying him with them to a definite issue.

As he