“Very well. I suppose I may give orders for a carriage and relays of horses to be ready to-morrow morning? Whether Miss O’Malachy decides to take the Trans-Continental express for Pavelsburg, or to go and stay at Eusebia preparatory to being transformed into the Queen of Thracia, we must get her out of the place before people are about. I’ll take Wright to drive, if you can spare him. He couldn’t tell tales here if he would.” “Oh, all right. But what on earth is the good of all this fuss? Tell her that if she will only have me, we will be married as soon as we can get a British chaplain up here.” “Do keep cool,” entreated Cyril. “In any case, I thought that the lady always fixed the day?” He left the room as Caerleon gave a despairing groan, and returned to the gaol for his second interview with Nadia. He found her sitting with the wife of the governor, a pleasant-looking, white-haired old lady whom deafness appeared to condemn to perpetual speech. Cyril could hear her monotonous voice rambling on as he came up the stairs, and it was not until he had written on a piece of paper that it was very important he should speak to Nadia Mikhailovna in private that she withdrew to the chimney-corner and comparative silence. Nadia had laid aside her peasant’s dress, which had been torn almost to rags in the rough handling she had received from the crowd, and the old lady had lent her a black gown of her own, which was so much too large about the waist that it was necessary to keep it in place by a sash. This gave her a somewhat nun-like appearance, and she looked very tall and severe as she accompanied Cyril to the window. “I suppose you have come to tell me what is to happen to me,” she said, with extreme coldness, and yet before his entrance the irony of the situation had almost made her laugh. To have come all the way from Witska to save Caerleon, and to find herself accused of trying to murder him! “I am here as the bearer of a message from my brother, which I have promised to deliver to you word for word,” said Cyril. “If it had not been for your appeal to his good feeling, he would be here himself now; or he would have written, but I refused to carry a letter. He implores you to reconsider your former determination, and to consent to marry him. He undertakes that there shall be no opposition to the match among the people, and he will regard it as the proudest day of his life if you will be crowned with him next month as Queen of Thracia.” He paused for a moment, then went on. “I am anxious to keep my word to Caerleon, and therefore I will tell you that no one could be more delighted than he was at the rupture of his engagement to Princess Ottilie of Mœsia.” “Ah!” said Nadia, her eyes shining for a moment, “and what do you advise me to do?”