as much a centre of attraction
as a sparkling fountain in a park is to feathered citizens on a sultry
summer day.

The wine of Krovitch, unfamiliar to Carter, was quite heady. He felt it
coursing through his arteries while his heart beat stronger. In its
convivial influence he turned to the jovial Muhlen-Sarkey and touched
glasses.

"A short life and a merry one," he said.

"A strong blade and a noble one," replied the elderly noble with
unexpected martial ardor. The incident had not escaped the notice of
Trusia. She arose, glass held high above her head.

"Gentlemen," she cried, "the King of Krovitch!"

"The King! The King!" came the ready response. Each toaster crashed his
glass in token that no less worthy sentiments should ever be drunk from
it. When the loyal cries had faded into a ghostly silence, the tall,
pale girl spoke again.

"This night, my lords and gentlemen, you go, after two centuries, to
call him back unto his own. As you kneel before him, you will hold your
sword hilts to his hand in token that at his call, alone, they'll be
drawn. Remember, this man is your king, whatever the state in which you
find him. Reverence must be shown as though upon his ancestral throne.
In full regalia, then, you must present yourselves.

"He may be in rags, but purple never made a king. He may be alone, but
royal birth gave him dominion over millions. He may be poor in purse,
but is rich in your--in Krovitch's devotion. You must bring him here
to-night, guarded with your naked breasts if need be. God save His
Majesty!"

When, resplendent in their uniforms, glittering with noble orders, the
party reappeared before Her Grace, her face was still pale and her eyes
shone from startled depths. Each man kissed her hand and, leaving,
received her whispered--"Godspeed." Carter was last.

With his hand upon the knob, he felt that the closing of that door was
like sealing the death warrant of his hopes. He was going to find a
husband among strangers for the girl he loved. Obeying an irresistible
impulse he looked back.

Trusia was standing by the table in the middle of the room. Her left
hand leaned on its edge, supporting a weariness shown in the relaxed
lines of her figure. Her lips were parted as if in pain, while her eyes
seemed searching for Carter as he met her gaze. The others had already
passed from the hall. With a bound he was before her, kneeling, his
face, turned upward to hers, pleading the love he dared no