Almost before the words were out of his mouth, the girl went on speaking hurriedly, walking fast with her face turned away from him, and her hands twisting themselves nervously together: “I also have a romance, your Majesty--a love-story, you call it. After I had visited England with my parents two years ago, we spent some weeks at Pavelsburg, and there I met some one--a distant relation of my mother’s. All these political troubles had not happened then”--she looked up at him piteously--“and I might follow the dictates of my own heart. My father and mother were delighted; the Emperor was pleased. We could not help loving one another; but what happened afterwards would not have seemed so hard if all had not been so bright at first. He had spoken to my mother; she had told my father; but our engagement was not to be announced until we returned home, and the betrothal could take place publicly. But when we reached Eusebia, everything was changed. Your revolution--the Thracian revolution--had taken place; Scythia and Pannonia had quarrelled; the statesmen were playing chess on the map of Europe, and he and I were two of the pawns. He is related to the imperial family of Scythia, and Pannonia could not allow Scythian influence in the Balkans to be strengthened by his marriage with me. They did not tell us plainly that our duty compelled us to part,--they worked underground, through the Grand Duke, my father’s uncle; they sowed dissension between my father and mother; they made our home miserable; they have parted my Prince and me. That is my story, and no one has any pity for us.” She paused and wrung her hands, her dark eyes searching Caerleon’s face, her lips quivering painfully. “Don’t cry,” he said in alarm. “If I can help you I will. What is it that you want me to do?” “There is no one I can trust, no one who will help me. My father orders me to marry you, and Pannonia and the whole of our own family are behind him. I could not escape; they would track me all over the world. My only hope is to divert their attention altogether for a time--for a few days, and so to obtain the chance of marrying my Prince.” “But who is he--this happy man?” asked Caerleon. “Alexis Alexievitch,” she replied, with a vivid blush. “The Prince of Dardania!” cried Caerleon. “Why, we have been hunting together for a week, and he has never said a word about this.” “He was to leave it all to me, unless he found some unexpected opportunity,” said the Princess. “He is making all the preparations. It is a difficult matter, because we must be married both by Greek and Lutheran rites, and he has found it best to bring a pastor from Weldart, from my mother’s people. The pastor cannot arrive for a week, and we must bridge over that time until I can escape into Dardanian territory, and be married. Now, do you see what I want you to do?” “I really don’t,” said Caerleon, the wildest ideas of personation, elopement, and abduction chasing one another through his brain.