had failed to do the
deed expected of her, but she would not hear the execrations of those
who had depended upon her to kill the Prince. We draw a veil across the
picture of Olga Platanova after the bomb left her hand; no one may look
upon the quivering, shattered thing that once was a living, beautiful
woman. The glimpse she had of Truxton King's haggard face unnerved her.
She faltered, her strength of will collapsed; she hurled the bomb in a
panic of indecision. Massacre but not conquest!

Down in an alley below the Tower, a trembling, worn team of oxen stood
for a day and night, awaiting the return of a master who was never to
come back to them. God rest his simple soul!

Truxton King picked himself up from the street, dazed, bewildered but
unhurt. Everywhere about him mad people were rushing and screeching.
Scarcely knowing what he did, he fled with the crowd. From behind him
came the banging of guns, followed by new shouts of terror. He knew what
it meant! The revolutionists had begun the assault on the paralysed
minions of the government.

Scores of Royal Guardsmen swept past him, rushing to the support of the
coach of gold. The sharp, shrill scream of a single name rose above the
tumult. Some one had seen the Iron Count!

"Marlanx!"

He looked back toward the gory entrance to the Circus. There was
Marlanx, mounted and swinging a sabre on high. Ahead was the mass of
carriages, filled with the white-faced, palsied prey from the Court of
Graustark. Somewhere in that huddled, glittering crowd were two beings
he willingly would give his own life to save.

Foot soldiers, policemen and mounted guardsmen began firing into the
crowd at the square, without sense or discretion, falling back,
nevertheless, before the well-timed, deliberate advance of the
mercenaries. From somewhere near the spot where Olga Platanova fell came
a harsh, penetrating command:

"Cut them off! Cut them off from the Castle!"

It was his cue. He dashed into the street and ran toward the carriages,
shouting with all his strength:

"Turn back! It is Marlanx! To the Castle!"

Then it was that he saw the Prince. The boy was standing on a seat on
the royal coach of state, holding out his eager little hands to some
one in the thick of the crowd that surged about him. He was calling some
one's name, but no one could have heard him.

Truxton's straining eyes caught sight of the figure in grey that
struggled forward in response to the cries and