"of the late King Theodore of Corsica, given by him into my keeping."

I saw the priest start as if flicked with a whip, and shoot me a
glance of curiosity from under his loose upper lids. His pupil
stepped up and thrust his face close to mine.

"Eh? So you were seeking _me?_" he demanded. "You are mistaken, sir,"
said I, "whatever your reason for such a guess. My companions--one
of them my father, an Englishman and by name Sir John Constantine--
are seeking the Queen Emilia, whom they understand to be held
prisoner by the Genoese. Meanwhile your sister detains me as
hostage, and the crown in pawn."

I had kept an eye on the priest as I pronounced my father's name: and
again (or I was mistaken) the pendulous lids flickered slightly.

"You do not answer my main question," the young man persisted.
"What are you doing here, in Corsica, with the crown of King
Theodore?"

"I am the less likely to answer that question, sir, since you can
have no right to ask it."

"No right to ask it?" he echoed, stepping back with a slow laugh.
"No right to ask it--I! King Theodore's son?"

I shrugged my shoulders. I had a mind to laugh back at his
impudence, and indeed nothing but the mercy of Heaven restrained me
and so saved my life. As it was, I heard an ominous growl and
glanced around to find the whole company of bandits regarding me with
lively disfavour, whereas up to this point I had seemed to detect in
their eyes some hints of leniency, even of good will. By their looks
they had disapproved of their master's abuseful words to his sister,
albeit with some reserve which I set down to their training.
But even more evidently they believed to a man in this claim of his.

My gesture, slight as it was, gave his anger its opportunity.
He drew back a pace, his handsome mouth curving into a snarl.

"You doubt my word, Englishman?"

"I have no evidence, sir, for doubting King Theodore's," I answered
as carelessly as I could, hoping the while that none of them heard
the beating of my heart, loud in my own ears as the throb-throb of a
pump. "If you be indeed King Theodore's son, then your father--"

"Say on, sir."

"Why, then, your father, sir, practised some economy in telling me
the truth. But my father and I will be content with the Queen
Emilia's simple word."

As I began this answer I saw the Princess turn away, dropping her
hands. At its conclusion she turned again, but yet irresolutely.

"We will find some