h bated breath and dismal faces, the announcement that
Yetive had deeded to Bolaroz the lands and lives of half of her
subjects. The northern plainsmen who were so soon to acknowledge Axphain
sovereignty, wept and wailed over their unhappy lot. Brothers and
sisters from the south cursed and moaned in sympathy.

Shortly before nine o'clock, Harry Anguish, with his guard of six, rode
up to the castle. Captain Dangloss was beside him on his gray charger.
They had scarcely passed inside the gates when a cavalcade of mounted
men came riding up the avenue from the Hotel Regengetz. Then the
howling, the hissing, the hooting began. Maledictions were hurled at
the heads of Axphain noblemen as they rode between the maddened lines
of people. They smiled sardonically in reply to the impotent signs of
hatred, but they were glad when the castle gates closed between them and
the vast, despairing crowd, in which the tempest of revolt was brewing
with unmistakable energy.

Prince Bolaroz, the Duke of Mizrox and the ministers were already in
the castle and had been there since the previous afternoon. In the royal
palace the excitement was intense, but it was of the subdued kind that
strains the nerves to the point where control is martyrdom.

When the attendants went to the bed chamber of the Princess at seven
o'clock, as was their wont, they found, to their surprise, no one
standing guard.

The Princess was not in her chamber, nor had she been there during the
night. The bed was undisturbed. In some alarm the two women ran to her
parlor, then to the boudoir. Here they found her asleep on the divan,
attired in the gown she had worn since the evening before, now crumpled
and creased, the proof positive of a restless, miserable night.

Her first act after awakening and untangling the meshes in her
throbbing, uncomprehending brain, was to send for Quinnox. She could
scarcely wait for his appearance and the assurance that Lorry was safely
out of danger. The footman who had been sent to fetch the captain was
a long time in returning. She was dressed in her breakfast gown long
before he came in with the report that the captain was nowhere to be
found. Her heart gave a great throb of joy. She alone could explain his
absence. To her it meant but one thing: Lorry's flight from the castle.
Where else could Quinnox be except with the fugitive, perhaps once more
inside St. Valentine's? With the great load of suspense off her mind
she cared not