ruddy of visage, were
plunging close-cropped heads into buckets of splashing cold water. At
the far end of the street, opposite his window, the over prompt were
already falling in. The sergeants picturesquely marked the points of
rest. The first sergeant was glancing over the bundle of orders he had
drawn from his belt, preparatory to roll call and the routine of the
day.

The world beyond, the world of fields and woods and flowers, looked
fair; the sun had not yet dried the dew, and jaded as he was, Carter
thanked God for all things sweet and pure. Something choked in his
throat. He welcomed the galloping approach of Zulka, who, shortly, drew
up beneath his window. In a flash, the Count read the trouble in the New
Yorker's face, but pretending not to, he touched his hat brim in precise
military salute.

"I've rare tidings for thee, my lord," and he vigorously waved an
oblong paper in a melodramatic manner. "Given under hand and seal, as
your lawyer chaps would say."

"Just as soon as I can get this boot on," answered Carter in a tone he
strove desperately to keep cheerful. Having accomplished his task
without unreasonable delay, he picked up a hat and crop and descended to
the courtyard of the inn where the other was impatiently waiting with
some good tidings he found hard to contain.

"Read that, Cal," he said, as he thrust the papers into his friend's
hands. Carter opened the document to be confronted with an
incomprehensible jumble of letters in Latin,--a language he had promptly
forgotten the day of his graduation,--a lordly seal and, dearest of all,
in an angular feminine hand, in subscription:

"_Trusia, Dei Gratia, Vice Regina._"

He feasted his eyes on the one word that for him blurred all the rest,
"Trusia."

"Trusia" of the marvelous eyes. "Trusia" of the ensnaring hair. "Trusia"
the beloved, the desirable.

"So you haven't forgotten your Latin, after all," Zulka was saying,
leisurely dismounting from his horse.

"But I have," answered Carter. "What does it all mean?"

"Your commission, man. Major of the Royal Hussars. For the present
attached to Her Grace, as Aide. I congratulate you."

"Don't, Paul; not yet. It is going to be all the harder for me."

Zulka nodded his head gravely. "You'd better fight at close range. It is
harder, but quicker."

He noted Calvert's riding costume at a glance and made a sudden resolve.

"Better take a ride, old chap. Get yourself in condition. I'm busy
to