"This is but a fairy-story, Duchess. Oh, Fairy Queen, could you not find a kingdom for the other man in fairyland—a kingdom with you as Queen?"
His naked soul was laying pleading hands upon her quivering heart. She turned away, unable to withstand the suppliance of his eyes.
"You do not know what you ask," she whispered hoarsely. Then vehemently spurring her resolve into a gallop, she added, "When the King is crowned in Schallberg, I become his wife."
"Suppose he isn't," he urged doggedly.
"Oh, no," she cried brokenly, "don't make me a traitor to my country's hopes. Don't make me wish for failure."
Unwittingly her words confessed her love for Carter. Grimly forcing her weakness back into her secret heart, she turned a calm front to him once again.
"Enough of fairy-stories, Major Carter," she said. "We live in a workaday world where the 'little people' have no place. All of us have our duties to perform. If some be less pleasant than others it is no excuse for not fulfilling them to the uttermost. We have a hard day before us. With His Majesty's permission, therefore, I will retire for the night." She arose as she said this, so Carter had no other alternative than to follow her into the royal presence.
From a balcony at the far end of the room, crept a faint note of music. The players were carefully concealed behind banked palms and gigantic ferns. To the surprised ears of those unaware of their presence it came first as a single note, then a chord, a stave, a vibrant meaning. It was like a distant bugle call across a midnight plain. It swelled into a challenge.
Then, echoing the hoof beats of horses, it swept into a glorious charge. All the invisible instruments crashed valorously into their fullest sounds. The arteries of the listeners throbbed a response to its inspiration. Trusia, her eyes gleaming like twin stars, laid her hand softly on the royal arm.
"Oh, sire," she cried, "it is our nation's battle song."