m of Peter of Blentz; and when he had learned
through the unguarded words of Schonau that there was a real
foundation for the rumor that the regent had plotted the
assassination of the king his suspicions had crystallized into
knowledge, and he had sworn to serve his king before all
others--were he sane or mad. From this loyalty he could not be
shaken.

"And what do you intend doing now?" asked Barney.

"I intend placing you upon the throne of your ancestors, sire,"
replied Butzow; "nor will Peter of Blentz dare the wrath of the
people by attempting to interpose any obstacle. When he sees Leopold
of Lutha ride into the capital of his kingdom at the head of even so
small a force as ours he will know that the end of his own power is
at hand, for he is not such a fool that he does not perfectly
realize that he is the most cordially hated man in all Lutha, and
that only those attend upon him who hope to profit through his
success or who fear his evil nature."

"If Peter is crowned today," asked Barney, "will it prevent Leopold
regaining his throne?"

"It is difficult to say," replied Butzow; "but the chances are that
the throne would be lost to him forever. To regain it he would have
to plunge Lutha into a bitter civil war, for once Peter is
proclaimed king he will have the law upon his side, and with the
resources of the State behind him--the treasury and the army--he
will feel in no mood to relinquish the scepter without a struggle. I
doubt much that you will ever sit upon your throne, sire, unless you
do so within the very next hour."

For some time Barney rode in silence. He saw that only by a master
stroke could the crown be saved for the true king. Was it worth it?
The man was happier without a crown. Barney had come to believe that
no man lived who could be happy in possession of one. Then there
came before his mind's eye the delicate, patrician face of Emma von
der Tann.

Would Peter of Blentz be true to his new promises to the house of
Von der Tann? Barney doubted it. He recalled all that it might mean
of danger and suffering to the girl whose kisses he still felt upon
his lips as though it had been but now that hers had placed them
there. He recalled the limp little body of the boy, Rudolph, and the
Spartan loyalty with which the little fellow had given his life in
the service of the man he had thought king. The pitiful figure of
the fear-haunted man upon the iron cot at Tafelberg rose before him
and cr