mountains, and the sun had been forced to set behind them.

"It's been a sort of battle since morning," the portier said. "There
will be some crashes and cataracts to-night." That was what The Rat
had thought when they had sat in the Fountain Garden on a seat which
gave them a good view of the balcony and the big evergreen shrub, which
they knew had the hollow in the middle, though its circumference was so
imposing. "If there should be a big storm, the evergreen will not save
you much, though it may keep off the worst," The Rat said. "I wish
there was room for two."

He would have wished there was room for two if he had seen Marco
marching to the stake. As the gardens emptied, the boys rose and
walked round once more, as if on their way out. By the time they had
sauntered toward the big evergreen, nobody was in the Fountain Garden,
and the last loiterers were moving toward the arched stone entrance to
the streets.

When they drew near one side of the evergreen, the two were together.
When The Rat swung out on the other side of it, he was alone! No one
noticed that anything had happened; no one looked back. So The Rat
swung down the walks and round the flower-beds and passed into the
street. And the portier looked at the sky and made his remark about
the "crashes" and "cataracts."

As the darkness came on, the hollow in the shrub seemed a very safe
place. It was not in the least likely that any one would enter the
closed gardens; and if by rare chance some servant passed through, he
would not be in search of people who wished to watch all night in the
middle of an evergreen instead of going to bed and to sleep. The
hollow was well inclosed with greenery, and there was room to sit down
when one was tired of standing.

Marco stood for a long time because, by doing so, he could see plainly
the windows opening on the balcony if he gently pushed aside some
flexible young boughs. He had managed to discover in his first visit
to the gardens that the windows overlooking the Fountain Garden were
those which belonged to the Prince's own suite of rooms. Those which
opened on to the balcony lighted his favorite apartment, which
contained his best-loved books and pictures and in which he spent most
of his secluded leisure hours.

Marco watched these windows anxiously. If the Prince had not gone to
Budapest,--if he were really only in retreat, and hiding from his gay
world among his treasures,--he would be living i