nd you know of the disasters overwhelming
us. You know all the hideousness and barbarity of what is being done.
Your father's son must know it all!"

"Every one knows it," said Marco.

"But it is your country--your own! Your blood must burn in your veins!"

Marco stood quite still and looked at her. His eyes told whether his
blood burned or not, but he did not speak. His look was answer enough,
since he did not wish to say anything.

"What does your father think? I am a Samavian myself, and I think
night and day. What does he think of the rumor about the descendant of
the Lost Prince? Does he believe it?"

Marco was thinking very rapidly. Her beautiful face was glowing with
emotion, her beautiful voice trembled. That she should be a Samavian,
and love Samavia, and pour her feeling forth even to a boy, was deeply
moving to him. But howsoever one was moved, one must remember that
silence was still the order. When one was very young, one must
remember orders first of all.

"It might be only a newspaper story," he said. "He says one cannot
trust such things. If you know him, you know he is very calm."

"Has he taught you to be calm too?" she said pathetically. "You are
only a boy. Boys are not calm. Neither are women when their hearts
are wrung. Oh, my Samavia! Oh, my poor little country! My brave,
tortured country!" and with a sudden sob she covered her face with her
hands.

A great lump mounted to Marco's throat. Boys could not cry, but he
knew what she meant when he said her heart was wrung.

When she lifted her head, the tears in her eyes made them softer than
ever.

"If I were a million Samavians instead of one woman, I should know what
to do!" she cried. "If your father were a million Samavians, he would
know, too. He would find Ivor's descendant, if he is on the earth, and
he would end all this horror!"

"Who would not end it if they could?" cried Marco, quite fiercely.

"But men like your father, men who are Samavians, must think night and
day about it as I do," she impetuously insisted. "You see, I cannot
help pouring my thoughts out even to a boy--because he is a Samavian.
Only Samavians care. Samavia seems so little and unimportant to other
people. They don't even seem to know that the blood she is pouring
forth pours from human veins and beating human hearts. Men like your
father must think, and plan, and feel that they must--must find a way.
Even a woman feels it. Even a