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Transcriber's note:

  Inconsistent hyphenation and spelling in the original document have
  been preserved. Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.

  On page 30, text appears to be missing from the phrase: "the ridge
  continues in a * direction".

  On page 342, 12th of May is probably a typo for 12th of June.

  On page 393, the phrase "was finely seen" should perhaps be "was
  finally seen".


guy of myself on horseback. I shall look a regular horse-marine--worse
even than Wylie in yachting-clothes. And you will be all alone.”

“I shall take my Jannaki. Think how he will enjoy the soldiers and the
horses! I meant to invite Koralie Melchthal into the carriage with me,
but now I shall have no more to do with her. She gives bad advice.”

“Well, don’t drop her too suddenly, and hurt her feelings,” said
Armitage, amused by the thoroughness of this reformation. “Her husband
may make an international affair of it if you do.”

Breakfast had to be cut short that morning, for a servant came to say
that the Prince was preparing to start. Danaë went with her husband
to the portico to see him mount, and her brother smiled grimly when he
perceived her costume.

“Your husband has known how to punish you after all, I see!” he said.

“Yes, it is my punishment,” said Danaë, looking at him with guileless
eyes. If Armitage would not uphold his own marital dignity, his wife
would do it for him. They rode away, with aides-de-camp and guards,
and Danaë’s carriage, with her own particular escort, drew up. She
was to be attended also by Petros, who had been allowed without much
difficulty to slip back into his old post of confidential servant to
Prince Romanos, and Janni and his nurse would go in the carriage with
her. But here disappointment was awaiting her, for the nurse, an
autocrat whom Danaë, greatly to her disgust, was forced to conciliate
at every turn, sent down a message to say that Prince John had a bad
cold this morning, and it would not be safe for him to drive in an
open carriage. A little earlier Danaë would have gone straight to the
nursery and fetched away her nephew by force, but she was beginning to
understand now the relative importance of herself and the nurse in the
household, and submitted to the fiat. Petros came forward to help her
into the carriage, and as he did so, muttered a few words.

“There was another of those murders in the city last night, my lady.”

Danaë paused with her foot on the step. “But what has that to do with
me?” she asked.

“How can I tell, lady? Only, when the news was brought to the Lord
Romanos this morning, he unlocked his private desk and took out a
paper, and crossed out something that was written upon it. I had seen
him do the same the last time, so to-day I placed myself where I could
see the paper. There were a number of short lines of writing upon it,
all crossed out but two, and one of these was at the foot of the
paper, away from the rest.”

“Well?” said Danaë impatiently.

“Lady mine, those who have died in this way were all members of the
band whose help I hired in the matter of the death of the Lady. He who
died last night was the last of them save myself.”

“I can’t imagine what you are driving at, friend Petraki!” said
Danaë.

“So be it, lady. But what if the two names still on the paper are
yours and mine? And why should yours be written separately from mine
and placed by itself?”

“I really have not the slightest idea,” said Danaë, her patience at
an end. “You were never satisfied until the Lord Romanos took you back
into his service, though he warned you not to return, and now I
suppose you mean that he is trying to murder you. If he intended your
death, would he leave himself in your power night and day?”

Petros retired muttering, and climbed to his seat on the box of the
carriage. For the moment Danaë was fully occupied with kissing her
hand to the forsaken Janni at his nursery window, but when he was out
of sight the hints of Petros returned to her mind with unpleasant
significance, fitting in as they did with her brother’s words of the
night before. Had she earned her life, or not? and if she had not,
what further service might Prince Romanos demand of her as its price
in the future? But her carriage and escort swept gallantly into the
great parade-ground, bright with colours and uniforms, and all dark
forebodings were put to flight for the moment. Her station was just
behind the saluting-point, at which her husband and brother had
already taken their places, and to right and left of her extended a
long crescent of other carriages, containing on the one side the
foreign representatives, and on the other the Emathian Government
officials and their wives. Nearest of the latter was an unpretentious
victoria conveying Professor and Madame Panagiotis. Though the
Professor held no office in the ministry, yet his long efforts to
achieve the independence of Emathia, and the varied diplomatic
experience they had entailed, made him unofficial adviser-in-chief to
every Emathian government, and mainstay of the throne. On the other
side Koralie Melchthal’s carriage was the nearest. It was clear that
she interpreted the meaning of Danaë’s costume as Prince Romanos had
done, for she bent forward with her eyebrows raised and her lips
pursed in an expression of intensest sympathy with a fellow-sufferer
under the tyranny of unreasonable man. It afforded her ungrateful
friend considerable pleasure to repay her with the coolest bow at her
command.

The review was a splendid sight to Danaë, though the representatives
of the great military Powers regarded it as of little more importance
than a battle of toy soldiers. Emathia was in process of educating her
own officers, but at present she was obliged to rely on foreigners and
on Emathians who had served in other armies. A body of Wylie’s police
from Klaustra were received with much approval by the experts, and
Danaë gathered that their workmanlike equipment was considered better
value for the money spent than the more elaborate uniforms of the
regular troops. But the latter made unquestionably the more showy
figure on the parade-ground, and Prince Romanos himself was a gallant
sight as he took the salute. Armitage, on horseback in his admiral’s
uniform, afforded an unpremeditated touch of comedy that caused the
foreign representatives the keenest pleasure, and everyone was asking
why he had not mounted the yacht’s crew and brought them to add to the
apparent strength of the Emathian forces.

Just recently Prince Romanos had devised an improvement in artillery
transport, and the new method and the old were to be shown in
juxtaposition, that the connoisseurs might give their opinion.
Gun-carriages, limbers and waggons were careering about the
parade-ground, apparently bent upon mutual destruction and evading it
only by a series of miracles, when the Prince called up Petros, who
was waiting close behind him, and entrusted him with a message to an
officer at the opposite side of the ground. Petros measured the
distance across with his eye, and hesitated.

“What!” cried his master loudly. “Afraid of being run over, most
valiant Petros? Must I seek another messenger?”

The aides-de-camp pressed forward eagerly, but Prince Romanos waited,
with his eyes fixed on Petros. “I really think you had better not take
it, friend Petraki,” he said, in a tone of good-humoured raillery.
“You will fall through sheer fright, and blame me for your
misfortunes.” Petros gave him a glance of helpless hatred, like that
of a savage animal in a trap, and fairly tore the paper from his hand,
then started to run across the ground. The incident had attracted
attention, and all eyes were fixed upon him as he ran. He held on
until he was about halfway across, and then found himself the apparent
goal of four separate teams, racing for him from as many different
directions. He lost his head, turned, and ran back towards his master,
pursued by one of the galloping guns, and welcomed by a shout of
universal laughter. The sound seemed to madden him, and as, with eyes
starting from his head, he reached the saluting-point and clutched the
flagstaff for support, he flung defiance at Prince Romanos.

“That was your intention, then, my Prince--to kill me as you have
killed those others! I know what orders you gave the drivers. There
would have been an accident, and you would be rid of me. But if I go,
you go too.”

Before anyone realised what was in his mind, while all were craning
forward to catch the shouted words, he loosed his hold of the
flagstaff and flung himself at the Prince, his long dagger gleaming in
his hand. There was a moment’s wild confusion. Danaë, standing up in
her carriage and gripping the rail convulsively, heard a pistol-shot,
but did not realise that Petros had fired at her, and that Armitage
had thrown himself between them, until she saw her husband fall. A
fusillade from the revolvers of the aides-de-camp drowned the sound of
a second shot, as the madman turned his pistol upon himself.

All was tumult, as people left their carriages and crowded to the spot
where the aides-de-camp were keeping a space clear round the three
fallen men. Professor Panagiotis was in the midst, and Danaë, seeing
his fine white head towering above the throng, fairly fought her way
through to him. He was giving orders rapidly, but paused to reassure
her.

“Yes, lady, yes; look after your husband while the surgeons are busy
with his Highness. Milordo is not much hurt, and one of the doctors
will be at your service in a moment. Yes, the miscreant is dead.”

An aide-de-camp moved aside, and Danaë was inside the ring. Two or
three surgeons were kneeling round Prince Romanos, and a sailor, one
of the yacht’s crew, who had evidently been among the crowd of
spectators, was supporting Armitage’s head. He spoke little Greek, but
Danaë gathered that he expected her to faint at the sight of blood,
and was trying to assure her that her husband was not dead. But the
daughter of the Christodoridi did not come of a fighting race for
nothing. She examined the wound quite coolly, and to her intense
relief found that though Armitage was unconscious, and had lost a good
deal of blood, the bullet seemed to have grazed rather than penetrated
the skull. With the sailor’s help she tied up the wound roughly, and
then became aware that the crowd was growing less dense. The
aides-de-camp had mounted again, and were riding among the excited
people. “His Highness was not dangerously hurt, but the doctors
considered it advisable that he should return to the Palace at once.
To his great regret, therefore, the review must conclude at this
point.” After this plain intimation the spectators could hardly refuse
to disperse, the foreign representatives setting the example. One of
the surgeons had been prevailed upon by this time to tear himself from
the side of Prince Romanos, and Danaë was helping him to strap up her
husband’s head, when she found herself addressed by the Professor.

“Lady, the doctors think it best to take his Highness to the Palace in
your carriage, rather than wait while another is fetched. It shall
return for you immediately.”

“But let it take Milordo as well!” she cried indignantly.

“It is impossible, lady. Two of the surgeons and I myself must
accompany the Prince. My wife, with her admirable common-sense, has
already driven off to see that everything is prepared for his
Highness’s arrival, or I would have ventured to offer you her
carriage. But you shall be sent for at once.”

The Professor seemed anxious and perturbed, though not unduly so, and
Danaë could not wonder at his preoccupation when she saw her brother
carried past, evidently only half conscious, his white lips murmuring
something about a paper, and his hands wandering on the folds of the
cloak that was thrown over him. But her present concern was entirely
with Armitage, and until his wound had been properly dressed she had
no thought to spare for anyone else. When it was done she looked up to
find the British Consul-General standing beside her. The other foreign
representatives had departed long ago, Herr Melchthal, whose wife was
in violent hysterics, leading the way as senior member of the
diplomatic body, but Mrs Wildsmith was still standing beside her
carriage in the distance.

“My wife asks me to take the liberty of offering you our carriage,
Lady Armitage,” said the Consul.

“She is very good,” said Danaë, “but mine will return in a moment.”

“Then will you permit us to remain with you till it comes?”

“But I am not frightened,” she said, astonished. “The doctor is here,
and the escort.”

“Yes, the escort is here, certainly,” said Mr Wildsmith, in a voice of
so much significance that Danaë looked round. Men and officers were
gathered in little groups, talking eagerly, with no appearance of
being on duty. “I would not trust them overmuch,” he added.

“But what has happened?” cried Danaë.

“Surely it is evident that there must have been a plot of some sort?
The wretched man who attempted the Prince’s life is bound to have had
accomplices----”

“Oh no, there was nothing of that kind. I knew him well. It was a
private grudge. Please don’t let me keep you here. Really I would
rather be left.”

“As you please. But remember that Lord Armitage and yourself, as
British subjects, have a right to protection at the Consulate. If you
find yourselves in danger, night or day, come or send to me at once.”

“You are very kind,” she repeated, in a bewildered voice, as he bowed
and walked away. When the carriage had driven off, she became sensible
of a great loneliness, for the surgeon departed also, to find a
stretcher, as he said. The parade-ground seemed very large, the
talking troopers incredibly distant, Armitage, still senseless at her
feet, might have been in a different world. The sailor, who was still
supporting him, growled something which she understood to be
uncomplimentary to the escort, and the words seemed to clear her
brain. Undoubtedly the cavalry were behaving scandalously, and must be
recalled immediately to a sense of duty, and by her.

“Don’t leave him!” she said to the sailor, and receiving his gruff
assurance, walked across the ravaged grass towards the troopers. As
she neared them, she became aware that there were many more present
than the twenty-five men who had accompanied her from the Palace--two
hundred at least. They must have remained on the ground without orders
when the review abruptly ended, and two or three officers of superior
rank were haranguing group after group. It was too late to retreat
now, and she marched boldly up to the nearest group.

“Have the goodness to detail four of your men to carry my husband to
the Palace at once, Colonel, and a sufficient escort for his
protection,” she said sharply.

The Colonel, a foreigner who in his day had served under many flags,
looked at her with contemptuous amusement. “And who may the lady be
who gives her orders so coolly?” he asked.

“The sister of your Prince,” she answered, the sonorous Greek flowing
clearly from her lips. The soldiers were crowding round them now, and
she had a feeling that events of importance depended upon the duel of
words.

“A fine hostage for us, then!” He swooped from the saddle with
extended arm, in the evident intention of seizing her and carrying her
off. But Danaë had been watching for just such a movement, with the
intuition which had descended to her from many generations born and
bred in the midst of alarms. She swerved swiftly and suddenly, and he
overbalanced himself and came to the ground, to the accompaniment of a
chorus of smothered laughter. The sound thrilled Danaë. These men
were still to be held for her brother, if she could seize the moment.
Before the Colonel could pick himself up, her foot was in his stirrup,
and in some miraculous way she scrambled into the saddle.

“Retire to your quarters, sir, and consider yourself under arrest!”
she gasped to her discomfited antagonist.

“And to whom am I to have the honour of surrendering my sword, lady?”
he asked, with a wink to a colleague.

“To me, sir. The belt as well, if you please. Be good enough to hold
my horse,” to a young officer who chanced to be near her, and then and
there she buckled on her foe’s sword, with the utmost deliberation.
The operation finished to her satisfaction, she looked round at the
ring of curious faces. “Gentlemen, your late Colonel was a traitor. I
will now lead you myself.”

“Long live the lady colonel!” cried the youth who had held her horse,
and who evidently found the new development interesting, and the men
took up the cry with hearty amusement. The late Colonel, as was only
to be expected, was less pleased.

“Oblige me by getting off my horse, lady. This farce has lasted long
enough.” Danaë’s hand stole out behind her towards the helpful youth,
and he grasped her meaning instinctively. The Colonel, with his hand
outstretched to drag her from the saddle, recoiled from the revolver
that almost touched his forehead.

“I should be sorry to end the farce for you on the spot, sir,” said
his supplanter; “but if I am forced---- Dismount one of your men, and
place the late Colonel under guard,” she said to her helper.

“If any man dares to lay a finger on me----!” blustered the Colonel.

“Place the late Colonel under guard,” repeated Danaë inexorably, and
during the undignified rough-and-tumble struggle that ensued she
thought hard, sitting motionless on her horse, like Bellona presiding
over a scene of carnage. When the fight was over, and her predecessor,
in a very damaged condition, was safely secured, she advanced a step.

“Are all here faithful to Prince Romanos and their military oath?” she
asked loudly.

“All of us, lady!” was the cry.

“It is well, for had there been any other traitor, I would have shot
him with my own hand. Lieutenant, be good enough to go to the Arsenal,
and desire the Director in my name to close the gates and not open
them without orders from me. Then go to your own barracks, and bring
me the keys of the magazine and armoury. Do the same at the other
barracks. You will find me at the Palace.”

“Am I to leave you alone, lady?” he asked in a low voice.

Danaë looked round proudly. “I have two hundred swords of my own
regiment to guard me,” she said, so that all could hear, and the
swords leaped from their scabbards to the salute. A grey-haired
sergeant close at hand plucked off his fur cap.

“The Colonel must wear our kalpak,” he said, and Danaë put it on and
fastened the chin-strap. The soldiers shouted with delight, but her
messenger still lingered.

“Would not a written order be safer, my lady?”

“I have not time to write,” said Danaë hastily, unwilling to confess
the deficiencies of her education. “See, take this as a token.” With a
pang she took off her wedding-ring and handed it to him. It was all
she had. With instinctive chivalry he kissed it.

“The regiment is at the feet of the Lady Danaë and her husband,” he
said, and rode away. Danaë surveyed her troops helplessly. They were
all mixed up, and she did not know how to get them straight. With a
sudden inspiration, she turned to the old sergeant. “Sergeant, I must
take Milordo to the Palace at once, but I want the regiment to escort
me--in proper order.”

The expedient succeeded. Two or three hoarse shouts, and the mob
resolved itself into ranks as if by magic. Four men dismounted, and
unrolling their cloaks, made a rough-and-ready litter. Under the
vigorous superintendence of the sailor, Armitage was lifted and placed
on it, and the cavalcade started for the Palace. Before they could
reach it, a carriage with a lady in it appeared, driving to meet them,
and Danaë recognised Madame Panagiotis, who stopped the carriage and
came to speak to her. The Professor’s wife was a German lady of great
propriety, and even at this crisis she managed to get in a glance of
disapproval at Danaë on the Colonel’s saddle before she spoke.

“Lady, you must pardon us for not sending the carriage before, but his
Highness was seized with another violent effusion of blood, and all
our thoughts were for him.”

“But he is not dying?” cried Danaë.

Madame Panagiotis blinked violently. “No, lady, far from it. His
Highness is doing very well. He asked for his son--” why should he
want Janni now? Danaë asked herself stupidly--“and inquired after
your husband. Then he called for a paper from his desk, and displayed
so much excitement that it was thought better to humour him. When it
was brought he seemed satisfied, and consented to rest.”

Then Petros was right, and the paper contained his death-warrant--and
possibly Danaë’s.

 CHAPTER XXV.
 THE MASTER OF THE SITUATION.

The cold eyes fixed upon her recalled Danaë to the present. If her
own brother had doomed her to death for the wrong done in her days of
ignorance, this foreign woman should see no fear in her. She summoned
her innate courage and her acquired politeness to her aid.

“Welcome is the messenger who bears good news!” she said. “Truly,
lady, it was good of you to bring the carriage yourself for my
husband. Now we can take him to the Palace in more comfort.”

She beckoned to the men who were carrying Armitage, but as they
approached the carriage, before she could slip from her saddle, Madame
Panagiotis stopped her.

“Lady, may I entreat you not to dismount? There is work to be done
before you return to the Palace.”

“What work could prevent me from taking care of my husband?” asked
Danaë in astonishment. “You can’t mean that I should keep him here?”

“My husband bade me ask you to leave Milordo to my care, lady, and
save Emathia for your brother.”

Danaë stared at her. “But Emathia is in no danger!”

“We thought it lost until you brought back the cavalry to their
allegiance a few minutes ago, lady. Now it is for you to finish your
work, if you will.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” said Danaë mechanically, as she watched
the soldiers making Armitage as comfortable as they could in the
carriage. He was regaining a measure of consciousness, for he smiled
faintly as his eyes met hers. Madame Panagiotis laid a firm hand upon
the bridle.

“Lady, you must listen, and you must play the man to-day, since your
husband and brother are both helpless. There is a rising in the city.”

“Against my brother? But who----?”

“Not against your brother, but a report of his death has been spread,
and the forces of disorder see their opportunity. They may be led by
the agents of the Theophanis family; I do not know.”

“That is absurd,” said Danaë with decision. “No one who knows them
could believe it for an instant. There must be foreign treachery at
work.”

“So my husband says, lady, for the danger lies in this, that any
widespread rioting, involving danger to foreign property, will bring
the Powers--and especially Pannonia--down on us at once. Your brother
is prostrate with weakness, and the doctors dare not excite him by
informing him of the rioting. Is he to rise from his sick-bed to find
himself an exile, and his son without a future?”

“No!” cried Danaë. “But what is to be done? Let Professor Panagiotis
come himself and take command. I know nothing of the proper measures.”

“Lady, my husband does not dare leave the Palace. Besides the doctors,
he is the only person admitted to the presence of his Highness. The
mob which is making a demonstration in the Place de l’Europe Unie, and
threatening the government offices, must be dispersed, and the streets
patrolled, and every attempt at a gathering broken up. The duty would
have fallen to Milordo had he been able to undertake it, but now you
are your brother’s representative.”

“And the force at my command?” asked Danaë sharply.

“This regiment, which you have saved for his Highness, as I saw by
means of the Palace telescope. The Klaustra police, since you vouch
for their loyalty. And as a reserve the Guard, but that must be kept
to garrison the Palace unless the necessity elsewhere is
overwhelming.”

“And what support is to be expected?”

“The Ministers and officials will rally round you when they learn that
the news of the Prince’s death is false. At present they are afraid of
becoming marked men if they take any decisive steps. My husband is
preparing two documents for his Highness’s signature at the earliest
possible moment, one constituting you colonel of the cavalry regiment,
the other--to be used only in case of necessity--proclaiming martial
law in the city.”

“It is well. Let him telephone to the various Ministries that if the
mob do not scatter, they will be dispersed by cavalry,” said Danaë
resolutely. Then her eyes fell on Armitage’s white face, and her
courage failed. “Lord,” she said, riding close to the side of the
carriage again, “you hear that they want me to fight for my brother
and Janni, when I would fain be tending you? Must I go?” She spoke in
a low voice.

“Yes--if it is to save Emathia,” he answered feebly.

“I hate the wife of Panagiotis!” was the inconsequent reply. “Lord, if
I must go, give me your wedding-ring. I had to use mine as a token.
There was nothing else.”

Armitage took off the ring, and put it upon the finger she held out.
“If I could go with you I would, but I should only hamper you,” he
said. “But don’t be rash, or I shall come and fetch you.”

There were tears in Danaë’s eyes, but perceiving that this was a
joke, she smiled dutifully and unwillingly. Stooping from the saddle,
she caught up her husband’s hand and kissed it fiercely, then
commended him by a gesture to the care of Madame Panagiotis, and
turned back to her soldiers. The messenger whom she had despatched was
just returning.

“Lady, it is done as you commanded, and here are the keys. But there
is fighting in the city, and no orders have come to the troops or the
police from the Palace.”

“The police have not given way?” cried Danaë in disgust.

“No, lady, but the chief of police fears to act without orders, and is
keeping his men in reserve. His Highness’s hand has always been heavy
on those who acted without his leave, and now it is said that he is
dead.”

“That is not true. He is alive and doing well, and has appointed me to
represent him. What is the fighting about?”

“I know not, lady, and I doubt whether the mob know themselves. Some
are crying one thing and some another, but those who are threatening
the Police Bureau have a red flag, and are calling out for a
revolution.”

“Can you get to the Police Bureau from the back?”

“Yes, my lady; through by-lanes.”

“Then go, and tell the chief of police to march his men into the
thickest of the crowd when we enter from the two opposite corners of
the square. That will separate them and force them down the side
streets.”

She looked round, and saw that her strategy was approved. Only one of
the officers seemed to have something to suggest, and she glanced
towards him.

“The machine-guns, lady?” he ventured.

“To be sure. We will fetch them,” said Danaë, but her troops were
evidently waiting for a word of command. In despair, she turned to the
officer who had spoken, and made a shot--happily a successful one--at
his rank. “Captain, I appoint you my aide-de-camp. You will ride
beside me, if you please, and transmit my words, lest my voice should
not reach the men.”

A smile flitted across one or two faces, but the captain thus honoured
was equal to the occasion. With a perfectly grave face he gave the
necessary order, and they clattered across the parade-ground in the
direction of the cavalry barracks. The machine-guns were secured, and
the force increased by the addition of a number of men who had not
listened to the disloyal suggestions of the former colonel, and who
had been informed by the messenger of the change in the condition of
affairs. The smallest possible guard was left at the barracks, for
Danaë did not underrate the difficulty of the task before her. Above
all things she was anxious to overawe and not to infuriate the mob. A
rising put down by bloodshed would be only less disastrous, as giving
an opening for foreign intervention, than a rising which was
successful, and this was her reason for leaving the streets at the
side of the square open.

From the barracks a messenger had been despatched to the Klaustra
police ordering them to join her, and they came up now, a welcome
reinforcement to her own four troops. A judicious reconnaissance
through the garden of a house deserted by its panic-stricken
inhabitants showed her that the time was ripe for action. The splendid
square was turned into a perfect pandemonium. The new Therma had
contrived to attract to itself an undue proportion of the dregs of
Europe and the Levant, and these seemed to have ranged themselves with
one accord under the banner of revolution. Red flags dotted the
seething, shouting, gesticulating mass of people, and garden-seats and
railings from the trampled flower-beds had been torn up to provide
weapons, though the frequent popping of revolvers and gleam of daggers
showed that the demonstrators had by no means come unarmed to the
place of rendezvous. The lack of unity in the would-be revolutionists
was remarkable. Each flag seemed to mark the position of a separate
orator with a separate panacea for the popular woes, and such fighting
as had yet taken place was merely between the advocates of opposing
remedies. But while Danaë waited for the Klaustra police to come up,
the mob had become more homogeneous, and there was a distinct movement
towards the north end of the square, where the Legislative Chamber,
the Ministry of Justice, and the Police Bureau were situated. Before
rejoining her troops, Danaë cast a glance to either hand. The other
Ministries at the sides of the square were all barricaded and the
inmates of the few private houses had either followed their example or
fled. This particular house had a broad piazza in the front, and here
she took her stand, with one troop and the two machine-gun detachments
as a reserve in the garden below her. The Klaustra police and another
troop of her own men had been sent some little distance down the broad
street which left the square at the two northern corners, with orders
to prevent the mob’s re-forming, and it was now time for the two
remaining troops to enter at the south-east and south-west openings,
and drive their respective wedges into the crowd. Just before they
appeared, the two or three terrified functionaries who had been vainly
endeavouring to pacify the people from the portico of the Ministry of
Justice fled panic-stricken before a shower of stones, and a
handkerchief waved from the roof of the Police Bureau showed Danaë
that her orders had been received and understood. One change she made
in her arrangements at the last moment, even while her squadrons were
entering the square. The two front gates of the garden were thrown
wide open, revealing a quick-firer ready for action posted in each,
with a force of soldiers standing by their horses behind it.

The first effect of the entry of the cavalry upon the scene was
ludicrous rather than impressive. The mob were making so much noise
themselves that they never heard the approach of the soldiers till
they were actually upon them, pressing steadily on, though using only
the flat of their swords, towards the centre of the square. The cries
of dismay from the back had no sooner penetrated to the front of the
crowd than a strong body of mounted police rode out from the courtyard
of the Police Bureau, and the demonstrators showed little desire to
face them. The troops were not in large numbers, and there were three
roads on each side of the square down which flight was possible--who
knew how long it might be so? There were one or two struggles round
the red flags, here and there a soldier was struck by a
revolver-bullet better aimed than its fellows, and fell from his
horse, but his comrades pressed on, and the mob was broken up. That
portion of it which was farthest from the police, at the back of the
square, did indeed, on discovering the smallness of the forces at the
command of law and order, make an attempt at a rush, which would have
overwhelmed the slender line of horsemen, but Danaë flung her reserve
troop upon them boldly, and they also gave way. Riding into the square
with the machine-guns, she accelerated their flight, and meeting the
chief of police, promised him the assistance of troops in keeping the
space clear. But her own duties were not yet over, for while she was
considering how many men she could spare him, two messengers reached
her. One, coming from the Palace by way of the rear of the Police
Bureau, carried the edict proclaiming martial law, which was put aside
for use if necessary, the other brought the news of a mutiny at the
cadet-school. The commandant had succeeded in keeping his pupils from
actually joining the rioters, but they were encouraging them from the
windows and roof, and the mob dispersed from the square was re-forming
before the school.

Danaë was now becoming quite expert in dealing with crowds, and
leaving the square to the police for the present, she led her troops
to the neighbourhood of the cadet-school. This time the mob were
expecting interference. Their nerve was shaken, and the men on the
outskirts were keeping an eye open for the appearance of the soldiers.
When the horses’ heads emerged from the street opposite, and the
troops, in three bodies radiating fanwise, began to ride through the
crowd, all the cheers and reproaches of the rebellious cadets could
not induce them to face the onslaught, while the discharge of the two
quick-firers, though the bullets were judiciously aimed skywards,
drove the young gentlemen pell-mell from their points of vantage. Once
forced from them, they had to face their commandant, but the numbers
within the walls were so equally divided that when Danaë demanded
admittance, the gates were not opened without a considerable scuffle.
The commandant appeared alone, in great disarray, and without any
formal greeting entreated her Highness to retire, and honour the
school with a visit on a more propitious occasion. He could deal with
his rebels himself if he was only let alone. But the situation was too
serious for the risk to be run of supplying the revolutionaries with
trained officers, and an idea had suggested itself to Danaë, based on
the discomforts of her own first voyage from Strio. Reluctantly the
commandant allowed her to enter the place, and proceeded to muster the
cadets at her request. The presence of the cavalry and the
quick-firers stimulated obedience, even on the part of the rebels,
though some of them had to be dragged to the parade by main force, and
others indulged in disloyal cries and insulting remarks. Commanded,
through the aide-de-camp, to separate themselves into supporters and
opponents of the existing _régime_, they complied with some surprise,
and an appeal to the commandant disinterred from the ranks of the
loyalists only one or two whose political opinions had undergone a
quick change since the collapse of the demonstration. With the thirty
or forty recalcitrants ranged before her, Danaë pronounced sentence.
They would proceed at once upon a disciplinary cruise, under the
charge of the deputy-commandant, and would be escorted on board
forthwith by the Klaustra police. The first result of the announcement
was that the commandant presented his resignation on the spot,
indignant that affairs should be taken out of his hands, but he was
induced to withdraw it on being assured that the culprits should be
restored to his jurisdiction the moment the crisis was over. Then
Danaë called up the sailor, who had attached himself to one of the
gun-detachments, and impressed upon him, with endless repetition to
make sure that he understood, a message for the captain of the yacht.
He was to get up steam at once, and sail as soon as he had received
his unwilling passengers on board, and was then to cruise up and down
outside the mouth of the harbour, in the roughest water he could find
within sight of signals from the shore. The sailor grinned broadly
when he understood the significance of the message.

“And are they to be fed, lady?” he asked, in his halting Greek.

“Certainly--if they are hungry,” replied Danaë, without a smile.

“I see, lady. Fat salt pork is what we usually recommend in these
cases.”

“The captain will know what to do better than I,” said Danaë, and
having seen her captives on their way to the quay, rode away,
heartlessly rejoicing that they would think no more of revolution for
the next few hours, at any rate. Her own task was far from being
fulfilled as yet. The infantry barracks had to be visited, and the
temper of the men ascertained, but the result of the inquiry was
encouraging. What might have happened if the revolutionists had met
with an initial success was doubtful, but the rank and file were now
staunch in their loyalty. Here and there an officer was missing, and
had evidently thought it prudent to disappear before inquiry was made,
but the empty places were quickly filled up from the loyal cadets, and
guards were provided for the public buildings and the Place de
l’Europe Unie as if nothing had happened. Then came more riding
through the streets, breaking up any semblance of a crowd, and
receiving complaints and appeals for protection from Jews, Moslems,
and other unpopular people, and a hurried journey to the scene of a
violent explosion, in an obscure house on the outskirts of the city,
which proved to be an anarchist bomb-factory. Then, leaving the chief
of police in charge of the public peace, since it had not been
necessary to make use of the martial law proclamation, Danaë retraced
her steps to the Palace, so tired that she could hardly remain in the
saddle. One further ordeal was awaiting her, in the shape of an
interview with the foreign Consuls, who had come in a body to enforce
the rather obvious truths that the riotous proceedings of the day were
calculated to prejudice Emathia in the eyes of the Powers, and that
steps ought to be taken to put a stop to them. Supported by Professor
Panagiotis, Danaë had no difficulty in showing that the necessary
steps had been taken, and that she had a reserve of force in hand if
further riots occurred. This was so clear that the dreaded offer of
outside help in coping with the situation could not well be made, and
the diplomatists withdrew, congratulating Danaë on her own escape and
her brother’s progress towards recovery. Then at last she was free to
find Armitage, who had defied all the doctors by refusing to go to
bed, and was awaiting her eagerly.

“At last!” he said, as she slipped into her old place on the floor
beside him, and rested her head against his arm.

“You ought to be in bed,” she murmured reproachfully.

“Not a bit of it! You know I was coming to fetch you, if you did
anything rash. Now tell me all about it.”

She obeyed with immense delight, fighting the day’s battles over again
as if she had been reciting one of her island ballads, and ended
with--

“And the chief of police said that I had saved everything by acting at
once. The crisis was so sudden that the Anarchists had not got their
bombs charged. They were charging them in a hurry when the explosion
occurred. But if they had had them in the square, the troops must have
been driven back.”

Armitage’s hand came down and pressed hers tightly, and he asked,
“Were you frightened?”

“I had no time to be--except when I wanted the soldiers to go on, and
I did not know the words. Shall I have to command them for long, do
you think?”

“Only till some time to-morrow. Panagiotis has telegraphed to Wylie to
beg him to leave his wife where she is, and come on at once.”

“I am glad. All will be well when the Lord Glafko comes. But I wonder
whether I shall have earned my life by then?”

“What do you mean? That’s what your brother said last night. Have you
found out----?”

“He had a list of all who were concerned in the death of the Lady.
Petros told me so this morning, when his own name was the last but one
on the list. All the rest were dead, and now he is dead too. I am the
only one left.”

“If I had known this, you would have wasted no time in saving your
brother’s throne for him,” said Armitage wrathfully. “We would have
gone on board the yacht at once. Let us go now.”

“Ah no, lord, not when things are so nearly safe! Besides, you forget
that I am making use of the yacht already. And I am not afraid, with
you.”

“I should not be afraid for you, but that I think your brother must be
a little mad on the subject. Danaë! to please me, will you ask if you
may see him now? I will come with you if you prefer it. It is only
natural that you should wish to see him, and he can hardly refuse.
Then we can judge by what he says whether he has laid aside his grudge
against you, or not.”

“Are you really in earnest?” she asked, puzzled. “I will go if you
wish it,” and she rose stiffly, for she was aching in every limb. “No,
do not come. I am not afraid he will hurt me. But if he has still not
forgiven me, what should we do?”

“Keep watch all night, and go on board at daybreak,” said Armitage
decisively, and Danaë laughed in sympathy as she went out. She
returned very soon.

“They won’t let me see him. He is asleep, and the doctors forbid him
to be disturbed. The wife of Panagiotis is in charge of the nursing. I
was angry, and asked her husband why she took so much upon herself,
and he said she had been trained under the best German surgeons.”

“But did you want to nurse him?” asked Armitage, in surprise.

“No, indeed; she is welcome to him, though I did not see why she
should be there. But if it had been you, I would have dragged her out
of the room by her hair!”

“I believe you would. But meanwhile, we are still in the dark as to
your brother’s feelings.”

“Oh no,” said Danaë unconcernedly. “Panagiotis says that he was
pleased to hear what I had done, and spoke of me as one who had
deserved well at his hands.”

“I hope that puts things all right,” said Armitage, still anxious.

“Surely his gratitude ought to last while we are here,” said Danaë,
with an irrepressible yawn. “And when I am at Klaustra, he can’t do
anything to me there.”

“Klaustra! I had forgotten all about it.”

“But you spoke about it only last night. Besides, you promised!”

“I hadn’t spent a whole day without you then. Oh, you shall go if you
wish, but I shall go too. I can’t spare you.”

“I am so sleepy!” murmured Danaë irrelevantly. But her head nestled
down against his shoulder, and she fell asleep crouching beside him.

 CHAPTER XXVI.
 THE FAIR PRIZE WON.

“Hail, lady!” Wylie rode up to Danaë and saluted, as she sat on her
horse, the picture of hopeless bewilderment, in the midst of a
clamorous crowd.

“Oh, how glad I am that you have come, lord!” she cried. “These people
say that certain Roumis dwelling among them are responsible for all
yesterday’s rioting, and they have broken into their houses and
dragged them out. The police have no evidence against them, but I am
afraid to send them home lest they should be killed.”

“Case of police protection, evidently,” said Wylie. “You want me to
settle it?” Receiving an eager affirmative, he spoke in Roumi to the
unfortunate Moslems, who were held by many hands, then scolded their
assailants roundly, and remarked that it would be well for everything
stolen from the looted houses to be back in its place when he arrived
there in a few minutes to settle the lawful owners in their homes
again under a police guard to protect them. Meeting Danaë’s grateful
eyes, he laughed.

“I didn’t intend to take your work out of your hands in this way,” he
said; “but Panagiotis seemed to think you would be glad to be relieved
at once. I have not seen your brother, but he sent polite messages,
and an order putting me in charge of the city and the troops.”

“Oh yes!” with infinite relief. “I can leave it all with you, and go
back to my husband. But how is the Lady Zoe?”

“Very well, thank you, but she is not so very far off, you know. You
will find her at the Palace. She refused to let me leave her behind.”

“Oh, I must go to her!” cried Danaë. “You won’t mind if I leave you?
This gentleman, my aide-de-camp, will explain everything, and you will
know what to do far better than I do.”

Hardly waiting for his answer, she rode away, and on arriving at the
Palace demanded eagerly where the Princess Zoe was, and ran upstairs
to find her. Zoe, instructing the rough Emathian handmaid who had
accompanied her in Linton’s place in the art of unpacking, found her
door suddenly burst open to admit a human whirlwind with flying plaits
and draperies, which dropped at her feet.

“Oh, lady, lady mine!”

“Kalliopé, my dear child! Come, let me look at you. Why, you are
taller than ever--and so much improved!”

“Really, lady? Not a savage any more?”

“I never called you a savage, I am sure.”

“Artemisia did, and Princess Theophanis, and all of them. Tell me
quickly, lady--am I different?”

Zoe turned her face to the light, and looked at her searchingly, while
the girl knelt blushing and trembling. “Very different. You have found
your soul, my little mermaid.”

“A water-nymph, a Nereid--do you indeed call me that, lady?” To
Danaë’s ears this was the highest compliment that could be offered
her. “But--” she hid her face in Zoe’s gown--“you know how it is that
a water-nymph obtains a soul?”

“I do, and it has come true in your case, hasn’t it? He shares his
soul with you, and you accept the gift.”

“Even so, my lady, but if you only knew--! I was so wicked, so
ungrateful--he ought to have taken it back.”

“He won’t do that, I am sure. He met us at the door when we arrived,
and I could see that he did not repent. You had a very narrow escape
of losing him, Kalliopé.”

Danaë hung her head. “Yes, lady,” very faintly.

“But, my dear child, it was not your fault!”

“But I had to leave him, my lady. I wanted to stay at his side, and he
bade me go. I durst not even let myself think how nearly I had lost
him, or I must have returned to the Palace at once. And it was only
the night before that I found out how much---- Oh, lady, I think that
my European clothes, and all the feasts and sights, and the kindness
of the European ladies, made me mad at first. I forgot who I was, and
that Milordo in his goodness had made me his wife; I even thought him
unkind. But it came to me in the night that all these things were
nothing to me if his face was turned away, and in the morning I
humbled myself and set his foot on my head, and he forgave me, and I
was content.”

“My dear child!” said Zoe involuntarily, realising the acute
discomfort this reconciliation must have caused to Armitage. Danaë
misunderstood her.

“Not content with myself, lady mine--I don’t mean that. You will teach
me what I ought to be, and I will give myself up to learn from you.
But you do think that he is willing I should be his wife?”

“More than willing, I should say.”

“And--lady, tell me truly--you don’t think my being his wife will do
him any harm--that I shall disgrace him?”

“Not while you feel as you do now.”

“And that will be always. It is well, then. Now I shall fight for my
life. Otherwise I would have let my brother do his will.”

“But what has your brother to do with it?”

“He has condemned me secretly to death, my lady, like all those who
were concerned in the death of his wife. They are all dead but me
now--Petros was the last.”

She spoke with such evident sincerity that Zoe was impressed, though
she would not show it. “My dear child, you must be dreaming. Your own
brother! You mustn’t let yourself get morbid. Let us go downstairs
now. I see my husband coming back.”

They went down to find Armitage, and presently Wylie joined them, with
a somewhat perturbed face.

“When did you see your brother last, lady?” he asked of Danaë.

“When he was carried wounded from the parade-ground,” she replied.
“None of us have seen him since. He asked for Janni at first, but the
poor little one was frightened and cried, and the doctors said he must
not come in again.”

“Haven’t you seen the Prince, Graham?” asked Zoe.

“No, I was to have seen him now if he was well enough, but the doctors
think it wiser not. He is to keep his strength in reserve ready for
seeing Maurice.”

“Maurice!” cried Zoe and Armitage together.

“Yes, Panagiotis has sent for him. He has some deep-laid plot on hand,
but I don’t see it at present.”

“But what is the idea?”

“So far as I can see, it is to magnify the Prince’s illness
sufficiently to make it natural for him to appoint Maurice regent.
That would be an important step gained in uniting our rival interests
against the Powers, but I don’t see that it justifies deception.”

“But you can’t be certain that there is deception,” said Armitage.

“Not certain, but why should the Prince not see me for a minute, if he
is well enough to send messages and sign documents? I should not
disturb him, and it would be much more satisfactory. But one can’t
force one’s way into a sick man’s room against the will of his
doctors.”

“Who is his doctor?” asked Zoe.

“Terminoff, who was with us in Hagiamavra. That’s one thing that makes
me think there is something up. Anyhow Panagiotis intends to see
Maurice established as regent as soon as he arrives, and apparently
attaches immense importance to his arriving as soon as possible.”

“Then he should have written to Eirene instead of Maurice, or at any
rate to both of them,” said Zoe.

“Since he knows the Princess by this time about as well as we do, I
should think it is highly probable that he has,” said Wylie, in his
driest tone.

“Then we may expect them here to-morrow--he is sure to have wired--if
Eirene is able to travel. She will send Maurice if she cannot come
herself, but perhaps this will be just what the doctor said she needed
to rouse her.”

“I hope the Princess is better?” said Armitage.

“Oh, poor thing!” said Zoe. “It is her mind that is suffering more
than her body. You remember how delighted she was when you gave her
back the Girdle of Isidora, Kalliopé?--Danaë, I mean--and how she
seemed quite different? Well, I think she must have felt, somehow,
that this baby was sure to be a boy. When she found it was a girl, it
seemed to take from her all desire to live. She just said, ‘Call it
Isidora,’ and turned her face to the wall.”

“But she is not dead?” asked Danaë, awestruck.

“No, poor Eirene can’t even die dramatically. Her schemes never come
off,” said Zoe, with a touch of her old flippancy. “Don’t look at me
so reproachfully, Graham. You know that poor baby would have died if I
hadn’t gone and fetched it and given it into Linton’s charge. And poor
Maurice so fond of it, and creeping in by stealth to see it for fear
of hurting Eirene’s feelings! I have no patience with her. She might
be fond of it for his sake, if not for its own.”

“And how does the Lord Harold like the baby?” asked Danaë.

“Not at all. He objects most strongly to Linton’s attentions being
diverted from himself.”

“Ah, you will want me in the nursery again,” murmured Danaë
ecstatically; but Zoe caught a look from Armitage which implied that
he would have a word to say as to the way in which his wife disposed
of her time.

With Wylie’s arrival, quiet seemed to settle upon Therma. Troops and
police and populace all welcomed him, or found it politic to seem to
do so, and the European Consuls abandoned concerted action for the
moment in favour of drawing up separate claims for compensation for
damage done in the riot. Whether Professor Panagiotis had planned it
or not, the publicity which attended Wylie’s assumption of the command
of affairs served to distract attention from the movements of his
brother-in-law, and on the next evening the Consuls were astonished by
the intelligence that Prince and Princess Theophanis had arrived in
the city, and were staying at the Palace. They had been received at
the station by Colonel Wylie and the troops, the Ministers and the
municipality, and the guard of honour appointed to attend them during
their stay was composed exclusively of veterans who had fought in
Hagiamavra. Addresses of welcome had been presented to them, and on
the morrow they would visit the Legislative Chamber, and receive the
welcome of the Assembly. It was all very proper, and the explanation
that this was the state visit planned some time before, but postponed
on account of the lack of health of the Princess, appeared quite
satisfactory; but the Consuls were not satisfied. Why had they not
been invited to the station to take part in the arrival ceremony? they
asked, only to receive the obvious reply that Prince Theophanis was
not welcomed as a sovereign prince, but as one of the liberators of
Emathia, allied by close ties with the throne.

While the Consuls were busy taking counsel with one another, and
Professor Panagiotis was employing every means in his power to ensure
a full attendance of the members of the Assembly on the morrow, the
party at the Palace was the same as that which had met at Klaustra on
the night of Danaë’s short-lived social triumph. Many changes had
taken place since then, but the most surprising was the transformation
in Princess Theophanis. It was difficult to believe that she was the
woman who but a short time ago had turned her face to the wall in
bitterness of soul and longed for death, or the weary chatelaine of
Klaustra, haunted by the knowledge that the battle she was fighting
had already been decided against her. Now she moved regally about the
stately rooms, almost as if she felt she had a rightful place there.
She showed marked kindness to Danaë, and Danaë and Zoe commented on
the fact to one another.

“What a change to have been brought about by the mere prospect of a
temporary regency!” said Zoe. “I suppose she feels that it establishes
Maurice’s position, but really she is no nearer her ambition than
ever.”

“The Lord Theophanis is pleased to see the change,” said Danaë.

“Yes, isn’t it pathetic to see his eyes following her about? She is
like what she was when he married her, before her ambition had come
between them. There really was a time when she seemed to think love
was enough, but it didn’t last.”

“I wonder,” said Danaë slowly, “whether she would speak to me so
kindly if she knew that, were the choice mine, the regents would be
the Lord Glafko and you, lady?”

“I really don’t think it would affect her. She knows that nothing
would induce us to take Maurice’s place, and I’m afraid she wouldn’t
care much what your wishes were, Danaë. What are you going to wear
to-morrow?”

“Not kalpak and dolman, at any rate,” said Danaë, with a sigh of
relief, for her two days of command were like a nightmare to look back
upon. It was an immense comfort to feel, when she rose on the morrow,
that all the military arrangements were in Wylie’s capable hands, and
that Armitage and she could resign themselves to take a purely
decorative part in the day’s proceedings. There was an unusual sense
of stir about the city, for the country-people, with whom the story of
the hard-fought and apparently hopeless fight in Hagiamavra was
rapidly assuming the character of a national epic, were pouring in to
see Prince Theophanis and his brother-in-law. The Palace square was
crowded long before the carriages were ready to start, and the Place
de l’Europe Unie so closely packed with a friendly, good-humoured
throng that it was difficult to make a way for them. The elements of
disorder were not in evidence to-day, at any rate, and the soldiers
received cordial welcome, while Maurice and Eirene were greeted with
tremendous cheering. The triumph lasted until they had actually
reached the threshold of the Chamber, but here came a disagreeable
interruption. The foreign Consuls had learnt or divined the cause of
the visit, and were assembled to protest against it in the name of
Europe. That Prince Theophanis should be proclaimed regent during the
illness of Prince Romanos was not to be thought of. Since there was no
question of a hereditary dynasty, Janni had no rights that needed
protection, and if it was simply a matter of appointing a guardian for
him, it would be most incorrect to choose a person who had made
himself so prominent in politics. As for the maintenance of government
and tranquillity in Emathia, that might safely be left to the Powers.
If Prince Romanos felt himself unequal to his duties, he had only to
resign them into the hands of Europe, and Europe would proceed to
agree upon his successor, as it would have done if he had held office
for the full five years of his appointment.

The protest was read in the name of his brethren by the Pannonian
Consul-General, who succeeded in restraining a smile even when he
spoke of the agreement of Europe, and it evoked loud murmurs among the
members of the Assembly who heard it. The language in which it was
couched was distinctly unfortunate from the point of view of its
promoters, for the Emathians had been learning for nearly four years
to regard themselves as a free people electing their own sovereign,
and now they were abruptly reminded that their country was still
technically dependent on Roum, and that their liberties existed at the
mercy of the Powers. The news filtered through the crowd in the
portico to the greater crowd in the square, and cries of anger began
to rise. But Professor Panagiotis kept his head. Requesting Maurice’s
permission to reply, he inquired deferentially what exactly it was
that the representatives of Europe desired. Since the natural anxiety
of Prince Romanos, in view of the events of the past week, for the
safety of his family and the stability of his government was not to be
allayed, would he be permitted simply to appoint a guardian for his
child? There was much murmuring among the nearer Emathians at the
Professor’s conciliatory tone, especially when Herr Melchthal replied,
with scarcely veiled contempt, that Europe had no desire to interfere
with the guardianship of a mere private individual such as Prince
Joannes Christodoridi. The Professor countered swiftly. Yet it seemed
that his Highness was not allowed to appoint his honoured
brother-in-arms, Prince Theophanis, to the charge of his child; might
he, then, appoint the Cavaliere Pazzi, the father of his deceased
wife? There was some demur at this, for was not the Cavaliere the heir
of Maxim Psicha? But the discontent of the deputies and the people was
growing so highly pronounced that the Consuls yielded the lesser
point, having gained the greater, and the Professor went down the
steps to lay the news before the invalid at the Palace. But the square
was now in a turmoil, and the crowd, unreasonable in their
indignation, refused to let him pass. He had betrayed Emathia, and
they would keep him until the Prince’s answer arrived. Professor
Panagiotis bowed to the storm, and a messenger was sent off. A time of
tension followed, the Consuls, though masters of the field, looking
decidedly uncomfortable in face of the sour looks cast upon them. The
deputies glared askance at the Professor, who chatted with great
unconcern to the party from the Palace. They were almost as
uncomfortable as the Consuls, not knowing whether anything had gone
wrong, or whether a preconceived plan was being worked out.

“If only the Consuls had made their protest before we started!”
lamented the Professor, as the moments went by. “It is so thoughtless
of them to keep the Princess standing like this! You would not care to
wait inside the building, madame?” he asked solicitously of Eirene,
who shook her head. “His Highness’s answer must come soon, of course,”
he resumed. “Perhaps he will even telephone--” he was looking in the
direction of the Palace, in spite of his words, and his jaw fell.
“_Kyrie Eleēson_!” he cried violently, and crossed himself.

The rest followed with their eyes the direction of his shaking hand,
and Consuls, deputies and crowd turned with them to look along the
street which led to the Palace. The standard of Prince Romanos was
flying at half-mast from the flagstaff.

“What is it? What has happened?” everyone was crying.

“The spoilt child of Europe has abdicated in a pet,” said the
Pannonian Consul-General confidently, but the snarl of hatred which
rose from the deputies made him turn aside with a rather unsuccessful
laugh.

“A messenger! a messenger!” came the cry from the square. In the
strain of the moment, no one thought of the telephone. All stood
gazing with white faces towards the man who was forcing his way
through the crowd.

“Holy Peter! it is Terminoff!” cried the Professor, and as the surging
throng washed up Dr Afanasi Terminoff, hatless and with torn coat, at
the foot of the steps, he ran down to meet him. “Doctor, why have you
left your patient?”

“Because he needed me no more!” shouted the doctor furiously. “His
Highness is dead!”

“Dead! dead!” the word was echoed by a thousand throats, and the
people in the square tore their clothes and cast dust upon their
heads. Dr Terminoff was still facing the Professor.

“How did you dare send that message?” he cried. “You knew on how
slender a thread his life hung. Here have we kept him alive from day
to day, in the hope that this morning’s ceremony would set his mind at
rest, and give him opportunity to recover, and you destroy all the
result of our care in a moment!”

“Don’t blame me,” said the Professor, pale with anger. “All-Holy
Mother of God! the fault was not mine.” His eagle-glance round called
the deputies and the crowd to witness as well as the Panagia, and in
one moment the air was rent with shrieks of “Down with Europe!” The
life of a foreign Consul in the Balkans is not at any time a very
peaceable one, but it is probable that the assembled diplomatists had
never been in quite such imminent danger before. Mr Wildsmith leaned
over the parapet by which he was standing.

“Colonel Wylie, we shall hold you responsible,” he said. There was a
stir of hoofs as the troopers under the wall moved forward a pace or
two, pressing back the crowd from the immediate neighbourhood of the
Consuls, but they were still in most unpleasant proximity to the
deputies, whose full-dress array allowed of a considerable exhibition
of weapons. Hands were on daggers and revolver-butts, when Professor
Panagiotis spoke again, this time from the top of the steps.

“Free citizens of Emathia, our Prince is dead. The descendant of the
Emperors, the hero who led us in battle, the statesman who has made
Emathia what she is, is lost to us. Shall his work be destroyed? Is
Europe to snatch away from us the liberties we wrested from Roum at
the cost of untold suffering and bloodshed? You say she shall not. I
take you at your word. Let us proceed at once to the election of
another Prince, who shall carry on the work our lost hero had begun.
Is there any doubt whom we should choose? Is not the friend, the
comrade of Romanos with us, who submitted to waive his own claims and
labour for the good of Emathia, to whom he whom we have lost desired
to entrust the safety of the nation? Theophanis for Prince!”

From the deputies and the crowd in the square burst an overwhelming
shout, “Theophanis for Prince!” Daggers were drawn and revolvers fired
in the air, and the shouting went on unabated. Herr Melchthal retained
his presence of mind through all the noise. He approached the
Professor.

“In the name of Europe I protest against this farce,” he said loudly.
“No mandate has been given for an election.”

“No mandate is needed,” was the fiery reply, and the deputies cheered
again. “Here are the representatives of free Emathia, responsible only
to God and their country. They will now proceed, with all possible
solemnity, to repeat by means of the ballot the election they have
just made by acclamation. Mr President, will you be good enough to
convene the Assembly?”

The crowd in the square were silent now, watching with eager eyes the
deputies as they filed into the building. An attempt at further
protest on Herr Melchthal’s part was met with cries of “Privilege!”
and he and his colleagues were forced to assert the dignity of Europe
in no more effective way than by withdrawing in a body, lest by their
presence they should be supposed to countenance what was going on. It
was a bitter pill to be obliged to request safe-conduct from Wylie for
their passage through the streets, but the choice lay between this and
sneaking out at the back of the Chamber, and each diplomatist was duly
guarded through the hostile throng by equally hostile soldiers, and
seen safe to his own door.

The actual election occupied a very short time. The last of the
Consuls had barely left the square when a deputation of members came
to invite their Highnesses to enter the Chamber. Here there was a
slight difficulty, for some of the deputies wished to impose a
condition which Maurice declined to accept, but the rest prevailed
upon them to withdraw their stipulation, and Maurice and Eirene
Theophanis emerged under the great portico Prince and Princess of
Emathia. Eirene had cast aside her cloak, and stood magnificent in a
gown of Byzantine splendour, with the Girdle of Isidora about her
waist. The jewel was recognised at once and another shout went up.
“The talisman! the talisman! Hail to the Orthodox Empress!”

She stilled them with a motion of her hand. “The Princess of Emathia
to-day, friends; and to-day is the proudest day of my life so far.”

The underlying thought was so clearly implied that the people shouted
again, and the hastily formed processions bringing bread and salt to
offer to the new sovereigns could hardly pass. Everywhere in the crowd
travelled persons who had visited Klaustra were lauding the
administration of Maurice and Wylie and prophesying benefits to
Emathia from their rule, and Zoe, Armitage and Danaë shared in the
enthusiasm aroused. When they escaped at last from the many hands held
out reverentially to touch their clothes, it was to be thankful for
the refuge offered by their carriage, as it moved at a foot-pace
across the square. Danaë sank into her place like one dazed. The
events of the last two hours--her brother’s death, the instant
election of his rival--were not to be grasped as yet.

“What I should like to know,” said Armitage suddenly to Zoe, “is when
Prince Romanos really died.”

“Oh, that has struck you too, has it?” said Zoe. “When do you think?”

“At first I thought last night, but now I am inclined to wonder if it
may not have been as soon as he reached the Palace after Petros
stabbed him.”

“In that case Professor Panagiotis must have a good deal on his
conscience--in the way of forgery and so on.”

“I think we may safely say that his conscience will never trouble him
to the point of making him confess,” said Armitage.

“And therefore we shall never know, I suppose,” said Zoe.

“Not unless Terminoff quarrels with the Professor, and splits.”

“Or the Professor quarrels with us all, and writes his memoirs. But in
that case one could hardly depend on what he said, so it would be as
doubtful as ever.”

“Whenever it was,” said Armitage with conviction, “Princess Theophanis
knew of it last night. She is in it with him.” Zoe’s eyes met his, and
he saw that she agreed with him.

“Do you mean, lady,” said Danaë, rousing herself from her trance of
bewilderment, “that all the time they told me I was preserving the
throne for my brother and Jannaki, I was keeping it for your brother
instead?”

“I am afraid it looks like it, Danaë,” said Zoe gently. “You would
not have done it if you had known?”

“I would have done it for you, lady,” was the doleful reply.

“But if it means that Princess Zoe will live here instead of at
Klaustra?” suggested Armitage.

“Oh, that we shall all live together at the Palace?” said Danaë, with
reviving cheerfulness. “Ah, lady mine, then I shall be able to be with
you always!”

“In that case, I fear Lady Zoe would have to put up with a good deal
of me,” said Armitage. “Shall we say sometimes instead of always?”

 * * * * * * * *

That evening, in response to the shouts of the people who filled the
square, Prince and Princess Theophanis appeared upon the balcony over
the principal entrance to the Palace, and exchanged greetings with
their new subjects. As Maurice handed his wife back into the room
after one of these appearances he pressed her hand.

“Happy at last, Eirene? I hope so, dear.”

“Not quite,” she said quickly. “Maurice, why did you refuse to betroth
Isidora to Janni as the Greeks wished? It was such a natural and
proper thing to do.”

“What! to bind those two babies irretrievably to one another?”

“These people do it constantly, to end a feud. And there would be no
hardship in it. I should bring up Isidora to regard the boy as her
destined bridegroom, and she would never think of anyone else.”

“But suppose she did? You were brought up to regard a Scythian Grand
Duke as your destined bridegroom, but that didn’t prevent you from
thinking of me. Why should your daughter be different? Or suppose
Janni preferred to marry some one else? No, we won’t risk making the
children unhappy.”

“They are princes. It is the drawback of their position.”

“Then we will save them from it as far as we can. And even for our own
sakes---- Why, Eirene, think. Would the Powers tolerate our linking
the claims of Maxim Psicha with our own at the present moment, even if
they consent to acknowledge my election as valid?”

“It might have been managed secretly,” she said, and walked away
restlessly, to look out at the dark masses of people in the square. It
was always like this; Maurice would thwart her to the end, not merely
by means of obstinacy, but with some show of reason and equity. If the
way to her goal involved a breach with his convictions, he would not
follow it. And that day had brought her so much nearer! In this age of
revolutions and counter-revolutions, of compromises and buffer states,
the phantom glories of a revived Eastern Empire might not be so very
unreal, after all. She saw them clearly enough, but it was through a
mist of passionate tears. No son of hers would sit on the throne of
the Cæsars, it was only too probable now that even her daughter would
never be acclaimed in Hagion Pneuma as Orthodox Empress. She had
gained the prize which was to be the stepping-stone to the greater
glory, but to her husband it was a burden rather than a gain, and the
child for whose sake she had first grasped at it lay buried in
Hagiamavra. The coveted fruit was little but dust and ashes after all.

 THE END.

 TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES.

Sydney C. Grier was the pseudonym of Hilda Caroline Gregg.

This book is part of the author’s “Balkan Series II.” The series, in
order, being: _The Heir_, _The Heritage_, and _The Prize_.

The book’s sole image, a frontispiece, was of such poor quality in the
source PDF that I didn’t include it. A quality copy will be added if it
ever becomes available. If you can provide this image please contact
Project Gutenberg support.

Alterations to the text:

Punctuation corrections: some quotation mark pairings.

Footnotes have been placed in square-brackets in-line with the text.

[Title Page]

Add brief note indicating this book’s position in the series. See
above.

[Chapter XII]

Change “to do the same _downtairs_” to _downstairs_.

[Chapter XIV]

“it was _worth while_ following up” to _worthwhile_.

[Chapter XVII]

“the _Caveliere_ read it through” to _Cavaliere_.

[Chapter XX]

“_the_ took the precaution of a whispered warning” to _she_.

“and was designed _te_ emphasize the” to _to_.

[Chapter XXIV]

“A _fusilade_ from the revolvers” to _fusillade_.

[Chapter XXVI]

“that all the military _arragements_ were in...” to _arrangements_.

[End of Text]