The George Barr McCutcheon MEGAPACK ®. George Barr McCutcheon

defense.

      “I—I—Mr. Anguish, you wrong me,—I—I—” She tried to whisper through the closed throat and stiffened lips. Words failed her, but she pleaded with those wet, imploring eyes. His heart melted, his anger was swept away in a twinkling. He saw that he had wounded her most unjustly.

      “You brute!” hissed the Countess, with flashing, indignant eyes, throwing her arms about the Princess and drawing her head to her breast.

      “Forgive me,” he cried, sinking to his knee before the Princess, shame and contrition in his face. “I have been half mad this whole day, and I have thought harshly of you. I now see that you are suffering more intensely than I. I love Lorry, and that is my only excuse. He is being foully wronged, your Highness, foully wronged.”

      “I deserve your contempt, after all. Whether he be guilty or innocent, I should have refused to sign the decree. It is too late now. I have signed away something that is very dear to me,—his life. You are his friend and mine. Can you tell me what he thinks of me—what he says—how he feels?” She asked the triple question breathlessly.

      “He believes you were forced into the act and said as much to me. As to how he feels, I can only ask how you would feel if you were in his place, innocent and yet almost sure of conviction. These friends of Axphain will resort to any subterfuge, now that one of their number has staked his life. Mark my word, some one will deliberately swear that he saw Grenfall Lorry strike the blow and that will be as villainous a lie as man ever told. What I am here for, your Highness, is to ask if that decree cannot be withdrawn.”

      “Alas, it cannot! I would gladly order his release if I could, but you can see what that would mean to us. A war, Mr. Anguish,” she sighed miserably.

      “But you will not see an innocent man condemned?” cried he, again indignant.

      “I have only your statement for that, sir, if you will pardon me. I hope, from the bottom of my heart, that he did not murder the Prince after being honorably challenged.”

      “He is no coward!” thundered Anguish; startling both women with his vehemence. “I say he did not kill the Prince, but I’ll stake my life he would have done so had they met this morning. There’s no use trying to have the decree rescinded, I see, so I’ll take my departure. I don’t blame you, your Highness; it is your duty, of course. But it’s pretty hard on Lorry, that’s all.”

      “He may be able to clear himself,” suggested the Countess, nervously.

      “And he may not, so there you have it. What chance have two Americans over here with everybody against us?”

      “Stop! You shall not say that! He shall have full justice, at any cost, and there is one here who is not against him,” cried the Princess, with flashing eyes.

      “I am aware that everybody admires him because he has done Graustark a service in ridding it of something obnoxious—a prospective husband. But that does not get him out of jail.”

      “You are unkind again,” said the Princess, slowly. “I chose my husband, and you assume much when you intimate that I am glad because he was murdered.”

      “Do not be angry,” cried the Countess, impatiently. “We all regret what has happened, and I, for one, hope that Mr. Lorry may escape from the Tower and laugh forevermore at his pursuers. If he could only dig his way out!”

      The Princess shot a startled look toward the speaker as a new thought entered her wearied brain; a short, involuntary gasp told that it had lodged and would grow. She laughed at the idea of an escape from the Tower, but as she laughed a tiny spot of red began to spread upon her cheek, and her eyes glistened strangely.

      Anguish remained with them for half an hour. When he left the castle it was with a more hopeful feeling in his breast. In the Princess’s bed-chamber late that night, two girls, in loose, silken gowns sat before a low fire and talked of something that caused the Countess to tremble with excitement when first her pink-cheeked sovereign mentioned it in confidence.

      CHAPTER XVIII

      THE FLIGHT AT MIDNIGHT

      Lorry’s cell was as comfortable as a cell could be made through the efforts of a kindly jailer and a sympathetic chief of police. It was not located in the dungeon, but high in the tower, a little rock-bound room, with a single barred window far above the floor. There was a bed of iron upon which had been placed a clean mattress, and there was a little chair. The next day after his arrest a comfortable arm chair replaced the latter; a table, a lamp, some books, flowers, a bottle of wine and some fruit found their way to his lonely apartment—whoever may have sent them. Harry Anguish was admitted to the cell during the afternoon. He promptly and truthfully denied all interest in the donations, but smiled wisely.

      He reported that most of the Axphain contingent was still in town; a portion had hurried home, carrying the news to the old Prince, instructed by the aggressive Mizrox to fetch him forthwith to Edelweiss, where his august presence was necessary before the twenty-sixth. Those who remained in the Graustark capital were quiet but still in a threatening mood. The Princess, so Harry informed the prisoner, sent sincere expressions of sympathy and the hope that all would end well with him. Count Halfont, the Countess, Gaspon and many others had asked to be remembered. The prisoner smiled wearily and promised that they should not be forgotten in a week—which was as far as he expected his memory to extend.

      Late in the evening, as he was lying on his bed, staring at the shadowy ceiling and puzzling his brain with most oppressive uncertainties, the rattle of keys in the lock announced the approach of visitors. The door swung open and through the grate he saw Dangloss and Quinnox. The latter wore a long military rain coat and had just come in from a drenching downpour. Lorry’s reverie had been so deep that he had not heard the thunder nor the howling of the winds. Springing to his feet he advanced quickly to the grated door.

      “Captain Quinnox brings a private message from the Princess,” said the Chief, the words scarcely more than whispered. It was plain that the message was important and of a secret nature. Quinnox looked up and down the corridor and stairway before thrusting the tiny note through the bars. It was grasped eagerly and trembling fingers broke the seal. Bending near the light he read the lines, his vision blurred, his heart throbbing so fiercely that the blood seemed to be drowning out other sounds for all time to come. In the dim corridor stood the two men, watching him with bated breath and guilty, quaking nerves.

      “Oh!” gasped Lorry, kissing the missive insanely as his greedy eyes careened through the last line. There was no signature, but in every word he saw her face, felt the touch of her dear hand, heard her timid heart beating for him-for him alone. Rapture thrilled him from head to foot, the delirious rapture of love. He could not speak, so overpowering was the joy, the surprise, the awakening.

      “Obey!” whispered Quinnox, his face aglow with pleasure, his finger quivering as he pointed commandingly toward the letter.

      “Obey what!” asked Lorry, dully.

      “The last line!”

      He hastily reread the last line and then deliberately held the precious missive over the lamp until it ignited. He would have given all he possessed to have preserved it. But the last line commanded: “Burn this at once and in the presence of the bearer.”

      “There!” he said, regretfully, as he crumpled the charred remnants between his fingers and turned to the silent watchers.

      “Her crime goes up in smoke,” muttered Dangloss, sententiously.

      “The Princess commits no crime,” retorted Quinnox, angrily, “when she trusts four honest men.”

      “Where is she?” whispered the prisoner, with thrumming ears.

      “Where all good women should be at nine o’clock—in bed,” replied Dangloss, shortly. “But will you obey her command?”

      “So she commands me to escape!” said Lorry, smiling. “I dare not disobey my sovereign, I suppose.”

      “We obey her because we love her,”