“Now!” whispered Sapt.

Driving the spurs into our horses, we rushed at a gallop round the house, and in a moment we were among the ruffians. Sapt told me afterwards that he killed a man, and I believe him; but I saw no more of him. With a cut, I split the head of a fellow on a brown horse, and he fell to the ground. Then I found myself opposite a big man, and I was half conscious of another to my right. It was too warm to stay, and with a simultaneous action I drove my spurs into my horse again and my sword full into the big man’s breast. His bullet whizzed past my ear—I could almost swear it touched it. I wrenched at the sword, but it would not come, and I dropped it and galloped after Sapt, whom I now saw about twenty yards ahead. I waved my hand in farewell, and dropped it a second later with a yell, for a bullet had grazed my finger and I felt the blood. Old Sapt turned round in the saddle. Someone fired again, but they had no rifles, and we were out of range. Sapt fell to laughing.

“That’s one to me and two to you, with decent luck,” said he. “Little Josef will have company.”

“Ay, they’ll be a partie carree,” said I. My blood was up, and I rejoiced to have killed them.

“Well, a pleasant night’s work to the rest!” said he. “I wonder if they noticed you?”

“The big fellow did; as I stuck him I heard him cry, “The King!””

“Good! good! Oh, we’ll give Black Michael some work before we’ve done!”

Pausing an instant, we made a bandage for my wounded finger, which was bleeding freely and ached severely, the bone being much bruised. Then we rode on, asking of our good horses all that was in them. The excitement of the fight and of our great resolve died away, and we rode in gloomy silence. Day broke clear and cold. We found a farmer just up, and made him give us sustenance for ourselves and our horses. I, feigning a toothache, muffled my face closely. Then ahead again, till Strelsau lay before us. It was eight o’clock or nearing nine, and the gates were all open, as they always were save when the duke’s caprice or intrigues shut them. We rode in by the same way as we had come out the evening before, all four of us—the men and the horses—wearied and jaded. The streets were even quieter than when we had gone: everyone was sleeping off last night’s revelry, and we met hardly a soul till we reached the little gate of the Palace. There Sapt’s old groom was waiting for us.

“Is all well, sir?” he asked.

“All’s well,” said Sapt, and the man, coming to me, took my hand to kiss.

“The King’s hurt!” he cried.

“It’s nothing,” said I, as I dismounted; “I caught my finger in the door.”

“Remember—silence!” said Sapt. “Ah! but, my good Freyler, I do not need to tell you that!”

The old fellow shrugged his shoulders.

“All young men like to ride abroad now and again, why not the King?” said he; and Sapt’s laugh left his opinion of my motives undisturbed.

“You should always trust a man,” observed Sapt, fitting the key in the lock, “just as far as you must.”

We went in and reached the dressing-room. Flinging open the door, we saw Fritz von Tarlenheim stretched, fully dressed, on the sofa. He seemed to have been sleeping, but our entry woke him. He leapt to his feet, gave one glance at me, and with a joyful cry, threw himself on his knees before me.

“Thank God, sire! thank God, you’re safe!” he cried, stretching his hand up to catch hold of mine.