now what has happened."

Clay, still bearing the body in his arms, pushed open the first door
that stood ajar before him with his foot. It opened into the great
banqueting hall of the palace, but he could not choose.

He had to consider now the safety of the living, whose lives were still
in jeopardy.

The long table in the centre of the hall was laid with places for many
people, for it had been prepared for the President and the President's
guests, who were to have joined with him in celebrating the successful
conclusion of the review. From outside the light of the sun, which was
just sinking behind the mountains, shone dimly upon the silver on the
board, on the glass and napery, and the massive gilt centre-pieces
filled with great clusters of fresh flowers. It looked as though the
servants had but just left the room. Even the candles had been lit in
readiness, and as their flames wavered and smoked in the evening breeze
they cast uncertain shadows on the walls and showed the stern faces of
the soldier presidents frowning down on the crowded table from their
gilded frames.

There was a great leather lounge stretching along one side of the hall,
and Clay moved toward this quickly and laid his burden down. He was
conscious that Hope was still following him. He straightened the limbs
of the body and folded the arms across the breast and pressed his hand
for an instant on the cold hands of his friend, and then whispering
something between his lips, turned and walked hurriedly away.

Hope confronted him in the doorway. She was sobbing silently. "Must we
leave him," she pleaded, "must we leave him--like this?"

From the garden there came the sound of hammers ringing on the iron
hinges, and a great crash of noises as the gate fell back from its
fastenings, and the mob rushed over the obstacles upon which it had
fallen. It seemed as if their yells of exultation and anger must reach
even the ears of the dead man.

"They are calling Mendoza," Clay whispered, "he must be with them.
Come, we will have to run for our lives now."

But before he could guess what Hope was about to do, or could prevent
her, she had slipped past him and picked up Stuart's sword that had
fallen from his wrist to the floor, and laid it on the soldier's body,
and closed his hands upon its hilt. She glanced quickly about her as
though looking for something, and then with a sob of relief ran to the
table, and sweeping it of an armful of its