t, your Highness," said St. George quickly; "in the
absence of the king, who presides over the High Council?"

"As the head of the House of the Litany, the chief administrator of
justice, it is I," said the prince with humility.

"Ah, yes," St. George said evenly.

"But what have you done?" cried Olivia. "Have you had search made?
Have you--"

"Everything," the prince assured her. "The island is not large. Not
a corner of it remains unvisited. The people, who were devoted to
the king, your father, have sought night and day. There is, it is
hardly right to conceal from you," the prince hesitated, "a
circumstance which makes the disappearance the more alarming."

"Tell us. Keep nothing from us, I beg, Prince Tabnit," besought
Olivia.

"For centuries," said the prince slowly, "there has been in the
keeping of the High Council of the island a casket, containing what
is known as the Hereditary Treasure. This casket, with some of the
finest of its jewels, was left by King Abibaal himself. Since his
time every king of the island has upon his death bequeathed to the
casket the finest jewel in his possession; and its contents are now
therefore of inestimable value. The circumstance to which I refer is
that two days after the disappearance of the king, your father,
which spread grief and alarm through all Yaque, it was discovered
that the Hereditary Treasure was gone."

"Gone!" burst from the lips of the prince's auditors.

"As utterly as if the Fifth Dimension had received it," the prince
gravely assured them. "The loss, as you may imagine, is a grievous
one. The High Council immediately issued a proclamation that if the
treasure be not restored by a certain date--now barely two weeks
away--a heavy tax will be levied upon the people to make good, in
the coin of the realm, this incalculable loss. Against this the
people, though they are a people of peace, are murmurous."

"Indeed!" cried Mrs. Hastings. "Great loyalty it is that sets up the
loss of their trumpery treasure over and above the loss of their
king, my brother Otho! If," she shrilled indignantly, "we are not
unwise to listen to this at all. What is it you think? What is it
your people think?"

She raised her head until she had framed the prince in
tortoise-shell. Mrs. Hastings never held her head quite still. It
continually waved about a little, so that usually, even in peace, it
intimated indignation; and when actual indignation set in, the jet
on her bon