good fighter, but a crooked customer, I put him down for. I spoke to him in English, with a slight foreign accent, and I swear the fellow smiled, though he hid the smile in an instant.

“So Mr. Detchard is in the secret,” thought I.

Having got rid of my dear brother and his friends, I returned to make my adieu to my cousin. She was standing at the door. I bade her farewell, taking her hand in mine.

“Rudolf,” she said, very low, “be careful, won’t you?”

“Of what?”

“You know—I can’t say. But think what your life is to—”

“Well to—?”

“To Ruritania.”

Was I right to play the part, or wrong to play the part? I know not: evil lay both ways, and I dared not tell her the truth.

“Only to Ruritania?” I asked softly.

A sudden flush spread over her incomparable face.

“To your friends, too,” she said.

“Friends?”

“And to your cousin,” she whispered, “and loving servant.”

I could not speak. I kissed her hand, and went out cursing myself.

Outside I found Master Fritz, quite reckless of the footmen, playing at cat’s-cradle with the Countess Helga.

“Hang it!” said he, “we can’t always be plotting. Love claims his share.”

“I’m inclined to think he does,” said I; and Fritz, who had been by my side, dropped respectfully behind.