. Her poor brain had striven in vain to invent
means by which she might save the man she loved. She had surrendered to
the inevitable because there was justice in the claims of the inexorable
Duke and his vindictive friends. Against her will she had issued the
decree, but not, however, until she had learned that he was in prison
and unable to fly the country. The hope that delay might aid him in
escaping was rudely crushed when her uncle informed her of Lorry's
whereabouts. She signed the decree as if in a dream, a nightmare, with
trembling hand and broken heart. His death warrant! And yet, like all
others, she believed him guilty. Guilty for her sake! And this was how
she rewarded him.

Mizrox and his friends departed in triumph, revenge written on every
face. She walked blindly, numbly to her room, assisted by her uncle, the
Count. Without observing her aunt or the Countess Dagmar, she staggered
to the window and looked below. The Axphainians were crossing the parade
ground jubilantly. Then came the clatter of a horse's hoof and Captain
Quinnox, with the fatal papers in his possession, galloped down the
avenue. She clutched the curtains distractedly, and, leaning far
forward, cried from the open window:

"Quinnox! Quinnox! Come back! I forbid--I forbid! Destroy those papers!
Quinnox!'"

But Quinnox heard not the pitiful wail. He rode on, his dark face
stamped with pity for the man whose arrest he was to make. Had he heard
that cry from his sovereign the papers would have been in her destroying
grasp with the speed that comes only to the winged birds. Seeing him
disappear down the avenue, she threw her hands to her head and sank
back with a moan, fainting. Count Halfont caught her in his arms. It
was nightfall before she was fully revived. The faithful young Countess
clung to her caressingly, lovingly, uttering words of consolation until
long after the shades of night had dropped. They were alone in the
Princess's boudoir, seated together upon the divan, the tired head
of the one resting wearily against the shoulder of the other. Gentle
fingers toyed with the tawny tresses, and a soft voice lulled with its
consoling promises of hope. Wide and dark and troubled were the eyes of
the ruler of Graustark.

An attendant appeared and announced the arrival of one of the American
gentlemen, who insisted on seeing Her Royal Highness. The card on the
tray bore the name of Harry Anguish. At once the Princess was aflutter
with