surely toward the strangers and lined up
irregularly at the foot of the steps.

"Enter Trouble," said Amory happily.

They found themselves confronting, in the midst of the attendants,
an olive man with no angles, whose face, in spite of its health and
even wealth of contour, was ridiculously grave, as if the
_papier-mache_ man in the down-town window should have had a sudden
serious thought just before his _papier-mache_ incarnation.

"Permit me," said the man in perfect English and without bowing, "to
bring to you the greeting of his Highness, Prince Tabnit, and his
welcome to Yaque. I am Cassyrus, an officer of the government. At
the command of his Highness I am come to conduct you to the palace."

"The prince is most kind," said St. George, and added eagerly: "He
is returned, then?"

"Assuredly. Three days ago," was the reply.

"And the king--is he returned?" asked St. George.

The man shook his head, and his very anxiety seemed important.

"His Majesty, the King," he affirmed, "is still most lamentably
absent from his throne and his people."

"And his daughter?" demanded St. George then, who could not
possibly have waited an instant longer to put that question.

"The daughter of his Majesty, the King," said Cassyrus, looking
still more as if he were having his portrait painted, "will in three
days be recognized publicly as Princess of Yaque."

St. George's heart gave a great bound. Thank Heaven, she was here,
and safe. His hope and confidence soared heavenward. And by some
miracle she was to take her place as the people of Yaque had
petitioned. But what was the meaning of that news of the prince's
treachery which Jarvo and Akko had come bearing? The prince had
faithfully fulfilled his mission and had conducted the daughter of
the King of Yaque safely to her father's country. What did it all
mean?

St. George hardly noted the majestic square through which they
were passing. Impressions of great buildings, dim white and misty
grey and bathed in light, bewilderingly succeeded one another;
but, as in the days which followed the news of his inheritance, he
found himself now in a temper of unsurprise, in that mental
atmosphere--properly the normal--which regards all miracle as
natural law. He even omitted to note what was of passing
strangeness: that neither the retinue of the minister nor the
others upon the streets cast more than casual glances at their
unusual visitors. But when the great gates of the