mount a little hill upon
whose side a small hovel stood, which Carter some time in his need was
to bless.

"It's Hans's, the charcoal-burner's," Trusia said with surprise; "we've
ridden ten miles, Major Carter, and scarcely faster than a walk. We must
turn back at once; my household will be filled with alarm. Please come,"
she said earnestly.

Together they turned their horses about, and started the return journey
at a good ground-eating gallop. Mile after mile they canceled, occupied
in the thoughts the ride had awakened. She was silent, in the spell of a
new obsession wrought by this man with his honest voice and stories of
the new, strange land, from which he came. Carter, distressed that
possibly he had caused trouble by his senseless prattle, was dutifully
bent on getting her back to the castle with the least possible delay.
Mentally he was attempting to frame a suitable and fitting apology to
offer her. Several times he cleared his throat, but she seemed so
preoccupied that he maintained silence.

Finally he achieved an explanation.

"I have been trying, Highness, to apologize, but really I can't. You
understand, don't you? I would be a hypocrite to say that I am sorry. I
am not. It must have been the magic of the place to which a year is as a
second quickly passed, so old is the forest."

"Have you been worrying about that all this time, my friend?" she said
with a quick laugh, awakening from her revery. "You remind me of my
duty," she added gently. "I was wool-gathering." She turned to discover
if he had in any measure divined her thoughts. Satisfied that he had
not, she was content to talk of many things which would claim her time.
Their conversation became gradually impersonal and general.

Once he had asked her why she had been so relieved at the answers
concerning the medal the Cockney wore. She hung her head for a moment
answering almost in a whisper, "It was Stovik's medal. I feared Carrick
was the king to whom I am to be married." Carter pursued the matter no
further. To his regret he saw that they were fast approaching the
entrance to the wood.

Bending forward suddenly she looked athwart his horse into the shadows
of bough and bush.

"Did you see him?" she inquired breathlessly.

"Whom? Where?" He pivoted about stupidly.

"Johann, the messenger," she answered, "who should have been in
Schallberg two hours ago. There, he's skulking behind that white oak.
Johann!" she commanded imperiously.