It had been arranged that the King and his companions were to ride the greater part of the way to Bellaviste, escorted by the Thracians who had accompanied M. Drakovics, and most of whom had brought horses with them; for although a railway from the frontier to the capital was nearly completed, it had not yet been opened for passenger traffic. It was a picturesque procession which wound down the mountain-side, headed by Caerleon and M. Drakovics; but when the level ground was reached the symmetry of the march was much disturbed, for the younger men among the Thracians broke the line out of pure gladness, racing their horses against one another, and riding hither and thither on either side of the main body. Whenever a village was reached, the inhabitants were summoned to the church by the ringing of the bell, and Caerleon, standing on the steps, was proclaimed king by M. Drakovics. Everywhere the people poured forth in delight to meet the party, bringing offerings of bread and salt, which were to be touched by the King and afterwards consumed by the givers. On these occasions Cyril generally remained in the background, afraid of being caught laughing, as he told M. Drakovics, to the no small indignation of the Premier. Wright shared his objection to publicity, but for a different reason, feeling very uneasy in his mind as to the whole proceeding, now that he understood its import, and not at all sure that it was consistent with his duty to Queen Victoria to become a subject of Caerleon. There was an unhappy consciousness that something was wrong about his whole aspect, which would have afforded Cyril infinite amusement at any other time; but now, as from his commanding position on horseback he watched his brother’s close-cropped fair head towering above the unkempt locks of his new subjects, he was busy trying to enter into the feelings of the Thracians. Mothers brought their children to look at Caerleon, for good luck, as they said, “that their eyes might see the King’s face”; old men came tottering up to touch his coat or his riding-whip, and to call down blessings on his head. It was all too absurdly medieval, thought Cyril, as the office-bearers of the little towns came hurrying to take the oath of allegiance to their new King, and the peasants crowded round to entreat him to raise an army to conquer Scythia, in which every man of them would enlist. Why should they make all this fuss about an unimaginative Englishman, who merely looked uncomfortable when a more than usually fervent assurance of devotion was translated to him, and who could say nothing in return but that he would try to do his best for the people and the country? There could be no idea of Divine Right in this case, for how could such a sentiment consist with the popular election of the monarch? and as for loyalty, how could they feel loyalty to a man of whom they knew nothing but that he was an English prince, for whom M. Drakovics