tan--

"Listen!" said Marco suddenly, as the carriage rolled on its way.
"They are shouting to us in Samavian, 'The Bearers of the Sign!' That
is what they are saying now. 'The Bearers of the Sign.'"

They were being taken to the Palace. That Baron Rastka and Count
Vorversk had explained in the train. His Majesty wished to receive
them. Stefan Loristan was there also.

The city had once been noble and majestic. It was somewhat Oriental,
as its uniforms and national costumes were. There were domed and
pillared structures of white stone and marble, there were great arches,
and city gates, and churches. But many of them were half in ruins
through war, and neglect, and decay. They passed the half-unroofed
cathedral, standing in the sunshine in its great square, still in all
its disaster one of the most beautiful structures in Europe. In the
exultant crowd were still to be seen haggard faces, men with bandaged
limbs and heads or hobbling on sticks and crutches. The richly colored
native costumes were most of them worn to rags. But their wearers had
the faces of creatures plucked from despair to be lifted to heaven.

"Ivor! Ivor!" they cried; "Ivor! Ivor!" and sobbed with rapture.

The Palace was as wonderful in its way as the white cathedral. The
immensely wide steps of marble were guarded by soldiers. The huge
square in which it stood was filled with people whom the soldiers held
in check.

"I am his son," Marco said to himself, as he descended from the state
carriage and began to walk up the steps which seemed so enormously wide
that they appeared almost like a street. Up he mounted, step by step,
The Rat following him. And as he turned from side to side, to salute
those who made deep obeisance as he passed, he began to realize that he
had seen their faces before.

"These who are guarding the steps," he said, quickly under his breath
to The Rat, "are the Forgers of the Sword!"

There were rich uniforms everywhere when he entered the palace, and
people who bowed almost to the ground as he passed. He was very young
to be confronted with such an adoring adulation and royal ceremony;
but he hoped it would not last too long, and that after he had knelt to
the King and kissed his hand, he would see his father and hear his
voice. Just to hear his voice again, and feel his hand on his shoulder!

Through the vaulted corridors, to the wide-opened doors of a
magnificent room he was led at last. The end of