“This is the irony of fate,” said Caerleon. “Scythia has turned me out of Thracia, and now she is to protect me against the lawful authorities of my own country.” “Then you believe that the plot against you was of Scythian origin?” asked the Princess. Caerleon reflected for a moment before answering. “I do not think that there were any Scythians among the actual plotters,” he said; “but I feel pretty sure that they would never have entered into the conspiracy if they had not felt sure of Scythia’s support in case of success, and her sympathy if they failed. I think it’s quite possible, too, that she strained a point in granting the exiles permission first to settle in her territory, and then to leave it.” “But who were the leaders of the conspiracy?” asked Nadia, suddenly. “Well, I saw most of General Sertchaieff; but I hear that his brother, the former Premier, was in it too.” “Yes, I saw their names; but that is not what I mean. Was my brother there?” “There were a good many of them altogether,” said Caerleon, evasively. “Was Louis there?” she persisted. “Well--yes, he was,” admitted Caerleon. “You need not be afraid of hurting my feelings,” said Nadia, her eyes gleaming ominously. “He has no special tenderness for me--he would have shot me once if another man had not knocked his hand up just in time, so don’t try to spare him.” “My child,” said the Princess, “do not say what you may afterwards regret. Your unhappy brother is dead.” “Dead?” said Nadia, awed. “Was he killed in the fighting?” “No,” said the Princess, “afterwards. Do you wish to leave us, my child? His Majesty will be so kind as to excuse you,” and Nadia rose and left the room. “What became of Louis O’Malachy?” asked Caerleon, returning to his place after opening the door for her. “All that I know about the outbreak is what I heard from your man just now, and he did not mention his name.” “He was to be shot this morning with General Sertchaieff and others among the rebels who had belonged to the army,” said the Princess. “I can’t say that I don’t think his fate was well deserved,” said Caerleon, hotly. “When I remember the way in which that fellow deceived us all--pretending that he had given up his commission in the Scythian army for the sake of throwing in his lot with Thracia, and how he took the oaths to me, and received the pay of our Government while all the time he was plotting against it--I feel as though shooting was too good for him. But that’s not all,” he rose from his seat and began to walk up and down the room. “As Miss O’Malachy says, when she came to Bellaviste to warn me that her father meant to murder me, he actually fired at her--would have killed her rather than allow her to betray his secret. There are some things one feels it very hard to forgive a man, though he is dead.”