Carter admitted that in his present state of mind dawn was no more to be welcomed than darkness. For hours on end now, he had been fighting grimly and silently to the end that he might cast out of his heart, for all time, the love for a woman which had crept in. Sleep had dared not come within range of that titanic struggle. Worn with the battle which had witnessed his defeat, he had just completed his cipher message, when, following a modest knock at the door, Josef entered complacently with the pent-browed peasant at his heels.

"If monsieur desires to send despatches," said the Hereditary Servitor, "he can make his arrangements with Johann here. Johann goes at once to Vienna, via Schallberg. He is trustworthy and discreet. Can I be of further service to monsieur? No? Then I shall go." Without waiting for any reply, he closed the door behind him as though upon a nervous patient.

After giving the messenger minute instructions and a liberal gratuity, Carter dismissed him and the despatches from his thoughts. Later in the day he was to be reminded not only of them but of the evil leer bestowed by Johann at the munificent tip dropped into his horny palm.

From the window of his room Carter watched the stir in the camp. In response to the first call from the bugles, the men were already bestirring themselves along the tent-marked company streets; some industriously polishing belt plates and buttons; some tightening the laces of their leggings, while still others, ruddy of visage, were plunging close-cropped heads into buckets of splashing cold water. At the far end of the street, opposite his window, the over prompt were already falling in. The sergeants picturesquely marked the points of rest. The first sergeant was glancing over the bundle of orders he had drawn from his belt, preparatory to roll call and the routine of the day.

The world beyond, the world of fields and woods and flowers, looked fair; the sun had not yet dried the dew, and jaded as he was, Carter thanked God for all things sweet and pure. Something choked in his throat. He welcomed the galloping approach of Zulka, who, shortly, drew up beneath his window. In a flash, the Count read the trouble in the New Yorker's face, but pretending not to, he touched his hat brim in precise military salute.

"I've rare tidings for thee, my lord," and he vigorously waved an oblong paper in a melodramatic manner. "Given under hand and seal, as your lawyer chaps would say."

"Just as soon as I can get this boot on," answered Carter in a tone he strove desperately to keep cheerful. Having accomplished his task without unreasonable delay, he picked up a hat and crop and descended to the courtyard of the inn where the other was impatiently waiting with some good tidings he found hard to contain.

"Read that, Cal," he said, as he thrust the papers into his friend's hands. Carter opened the document to be confronted with an incomprehensible jumble of letters in Latin,—a language he had promptly forgotten the day of his graduation,—a lordly seal and, dearest of all, in an angular feminine hand, in subscription:

"Trusia, Dei Gratia, Vice Regina."

He feasted his eyes on the one word that for him blurred all the rest, "Trusia."

"Trusia" of the marvelous eyes. "Trusia" of the ensnaring hair. "Trusia" the beloved, the desirable.

"So you haven't forgotten your Latin, after all," Zulka was saying, leisurely dismounting from his horse.

"But I have," answered Carter. "What does it all mean?"

"Your commission, man. Major of the Royal Hussars. For the present attached to Her Grace, as Aide. I congratulate you."

"Don't, Paul; not yet. It is going to be all the harder for me."

Zulka nodded his head gravely. "You'd better fight at close range. It is harder, but quicker."

He noted Calvert's riding costume at a glance and made a sudden resolve.

"Better take a ride, old chap. Get yourself in condition. I'm busy to-day. Borrow Casimir's horse—he's off for the morning. I think Natalie will be out on the road this way. She'd appreciate your escort, I'll wager. We creep a step nearer the city this morning, and as Division Adjutant I'll have my hands full.

"Here, Casimir," he called to the equerry who was lazily swinging his feet over the edge of the porch on which he had seated himself, "lend Major Carter your mount for this morning, can't you?"

"Gladly. Saral is the right sort and I guess bears him no ill will for yesterday's stampede."

Carter was about to mount when Carrick put in a solemn appearance from the stables.

"Some one has tackled the automobile with an axe, sir," he announced ruefully. "The wheels are left, and that's about all of the 'go' part." Carter turned wrathfully from the horse to follow Carrick back to the shed where the big car had been housed. With ready sympathy the two young Krovitzers followed.

"It is dastardly," Paul remarked as he bent over and discovered that not a particle of the motive mechanism had been left intact.

"Count on me, sir," Casimir volunteered, "to help you ferret out the rascals. Have you any idea who could have played such a shabby trick?"

While Carter had pretty definite suspicions he was not prepared just then to announce them.

"The car is done for, certainly," he said gloomily. "No," he said as he turned indifferently away, "I don't know who did it, and thank you, Casimir, I don't care to. I don't think I would be justified in killing a man for breaking up even six thousand dollars' worth of property, but if I was certain just now who did it I feel I would be strongly tempted to wring his neck. Au revoir, gentlemen, I am not going to permit this to spoil my ride." With this and a nod, he returned and, mounting the horse, cantered out of view along the road to the castle.

The handsome bay pounded steadily ahead. The air was soothing soft with a thousand scents of forest and hill, of field and farm; kind zephyrs of morning touched his brow and eased his sorrows, while the sun, from a bed of pearl-pink clouds, rose slowly before his eyes. Beyond and alongside of the already striking camp, on the right of the road, the woods began again, leaving the open fields like an alternate square on some mammoth checker board. More than one soldier gazed admiringly at his strong figure as he cantered past, while the sentries, doubtless under instructions, permitted him to pass unchallenged through the lines.

When he reached the spot where he had first seen Trusia—the place of the accident, he checked his horse to indulge in the sensations the scene awakened. He beheld again the marble beauty of the face; he felt the wondrous softness of the skin, and once more his heart was entangled in the meshes of the fragrant hair as the loosened strands blew against his hot cheek.

Round the bend in the road, as then, he heard approaching hoof beats. He marveled that his heart should beat so high merely for the advent of Lady Natalie. In the indulgence of his dream, the suggested thuds presaged the coming of Trusia. He sat immovably upon his horse in mid-road, waiting. Every sense was aquiver, every nerve on edge.

A black horse swept into view as it first had in his fancy. It was ridden by Trusia. Saladin had not forgotten. As his mistress reined him in, his wide eyes shifted about distrustfully. A quiver ran beneath the satiny flanks while his slender legs trembled. Carter made no effort to conceal his surprise, as he lifted his hat in salutation.

"Your Highness," he ejaculated.

"Yes," she laughed. "Why, aren't you disappointed? Lady Natalie is. Her mother found some unwelcome duty shirked which she insisted should be properly discharged. I am her apologetic substitute. Besides I wished to discipline Saladin to this place before he should acquire the habit of shying at it. There, Beauty," she said patting his arching neck as he snorted in pure ecstasy of terrified recollections. Calmed by her caressing voice and the touch of her hand he stretched forth his head to nozzle the other horse in neighborly fashion.

"Natalie is a sweet girl, Major Carter," she said tentatively, giving him his full title. "Am I forgiven for coming—in her stead?"

"On condition that Your Highness will do me the honor of riding with me—in her stead." He smiled his usual frank smile. "Besides," he pleaded, "it will take me some time to thank you for your kindness in giving me my brevet. I know it is an honor which many a man of Krovitch would die to win."

She flushed as she answered him. "It was but a small return for what you have suffered."

In silent assent to his invitation, she pointed her crop to a path among the trees, which might easily have escaped the observation of those not familiar with its existence.

"Right beyond the turn in the road is a bypath. Let us take that. It goes down into the heart of the wood, to the ancestor of forests. The trees stand there as if brooding over the lost centuries of their youth. The moss is as gray as Time himself. The only sounds, save the soughing sighs of the giant branches, are the chime of the waterfall and the chirping of birds. I love it," she said with sparkling eyes, "because those trees seem typical of the undying faith of the land, which for two centuries has never lost hope and has never ceased working for the day which will soon crown our efforts. See," she pointed down the aisle of overhanging branches they were entering, "is it not magnificent?"

Side by side, comrades under the spell of the woodlands, rode Trusia and Carter, inhaling the fresh morning sifted through the leaves. A vista of trees arose on either hand, each one seemingly more massive, more aged than its fellow; some bowed in retrospection, some erect with hope and looking skyward for the new star in their country's firmament.

A peace begotten of serenity settled on Carter's soul. He turned to look at the girl beside him. The magic of the place had brought a refreshing expression of content into her face. He noted the soft turn of her cheek, the inviting round chin and the steady splendor of the eyes. The spell of silence was broken then. The wood sprites were routed by a modern girl. Feeling his eyes upon her, she turned to him, her lips half parted in a smile.

"Is it not wonderful, all of this?" she said, caressing the leafy monarchs with a wide-spread gesture. "Do you have such forests in America, such trees? Oh, I have heard of your California forests, where roads are cut through the trunk of a single giant without destroying its life. But it is the spirit of the woodlands, I mean. Do they breathe traditions?"

"Not to us, Highness. We are not their children. Perhaps the Indian when he bade them farewell could understand their counsels."

"You were a soldier," she said, as a suggested possibility caught her, "did you ever fight Indians?" Her eager face was almost as a child's who begs a story.

"Sorry I can't oblige you," he laughed indulgently. "I engaged only the prosaic European from Spain."

"You fought in Cuba? Tell me about it."

So much as he modestly might tell, he related to her as they rode on. They were young, time was cheap and the tale was not uninteresting.

The labored heaving of the horses' shoulders brought them back to their surroundings. They were leaving the forest to mount a little hill upon whose side a small hovel stood, which Carter some time in his need was to bless.

"It's Hans's, the charcoal-burner's," Trusia said with surprise; "we've ridden ten miles, Major Carter, and scarcely faster than a walk. We must turn back at once; my household will be filled with alarm. Please come," she said earnestly.

Together they turned their horses about, and started the return journey at a good ground-eating gallop. Mile after mile they canceled, occupied in the thoughts the ride had awakened. She was silent, in the spell of a new obsession wrought by this man with his honest voice and stories of the new, strange land, from which he came. Carter, distressed that possibly he had caused trouble by his senseless prattle, was dutifully bent on getting her back to the castle with the least possible delay. Mentally he was attempting to frame a suitable and fitting apology to offer her. Several times he cleared his throat, but she seemed so preoccupied that he maintained silence.

Finally he achieved an explanation.

"I have been trying, Highness, to apologize, but really I can't. You understand, don't you? I would be a hypocrite to say that I am sorry. I am not. It must have been the magic of the place to which a year is as a second quickly passed, so old is the forest."

"Have you been worrying about that all this time, my friend?" she said with a quick laugh, awakening from her revery. "You remind me of my duty," she added gently. "I was wool-gathering." She turned to discover if he had in any measure divined her thoughts. Satisfied that he had not, she was content to talk of many things which would claim her time. Their conversation became gradually impersonal and general.

Once he had asked her why she had been so relieved at the answers concerning the medal the Cockney wore. She hung her head for a moment answering almost in a whisper, "It was Stovik's medal. I feared Carrick was the king to whom I am to be married." Carter pursued the matter no further. To his regret he saw that they were fast approaching the entrance to the wood.

Bending forward suddenly she looked athwart his horse into the shadows of bough and bush.

"Did you see him?" she inquired breathlessly.

"Whom? Where?" He pivoted about stupidly.

"Johann, the messenger," she answered, "who should have been in Schallberg two hours ago. There, he's skulking behind that white oak. Johann!" she commanded imperiously. Seeing that concealment was no longer practicable, the fellow sulkily came from his hiding-place and stood, with sullen countenance, in the path beside them. "Find out what he is doing here, Major Carter."

The messenger maintained a dogged silence to Carter's inquiries. Fearing that some treachery was at the root of the matter, the American finally asked whether the fellow had the despatches given him that morning. With an evil leer Johann looked up at this, breaking his silence.

"Ja, Herr Major," he replied, "I have them all right, and your hush money, too." He jingled the coins in his pocket with insolent significance.

"He's surely drunk, but what does he mean, Major?" asked Trusia in bewilderment.

"I do not know, Highness," he replied tensely, "but if, as I suspect, some treason's afoot, I would suggest he be at once taken to the castle for a formal investigation."

The man guffawed impudently. "You wouldn't dare," he said meaningly to Carter, "you wouldn't dare let Count Sobieska or Her Grace know what is in that letter."

Indignant at the suggestion that his message had been read Carter retorted: "We shall see, my man, for to Count Sobieska you go at once."

"All right," the peasant answered jauntily, with a satisfaction Carter thought was assumed, "if you are willing, I am. Come along," and with a leering wink he initiated the return castleward.