“I feel I’ve about earned my night’s repose,” yawned Cyril to himself in the solitude of his own room. “If all the Thracians have worked as hard to-day as their king and his brother, they’re an industrious nation. Hullo! some of them must be at it still. I suppose old Drakovics has been hurrying them, for fear things won’t be ready for the coronation.” His eye had caught a faint glimmer in the eastern windows of St Peter’s chapel, which could hardly be the effect of moonlight, and as he lay down he congratulated himself that he was not obliged to work all through the night at putting up decorations. For an hour or so he slept the sleep of the weary; then he was aroused by shouts and cries pealing through the palace. “Another revolution!” was his first thought, as he jumped out of bed and groped for his revolver; but as soon as he threw back the window-curtains, a flood of light poured into the room. The chapel of St Peter was blazing furiously, and the courtyard was full of guards and servants, some staring stupidly at the flames, others tumbling over one another in eager but ineffectual efforts to take measures for stopping the fire. “Put on some clothes and come out, Cyril,” said Caerleon’s voice at the door. “Those idiots there haven’t an idea what to do.” Hastily obeying, Cyril found himself placed at the head of a band of water-carriers, while Caerleon took his stand close to the burning pile, and directed the throwing of the water as the buckets were passed from hand to hand. There were proper appliances all over the palace for use in case of an outbreak of fire, but the buckets were rusted into holes and the hoses were leaky; and if Wright had not organised from among the onlookers a force to fetch pails from the stables, it would have been impossible to procure a sufficient quantity of water. Even as it was, the flames were not finally vanquished until the roof and walls of the building had fallen in, and the morning light showed only a heap of smoking ruins. St Peter’s chapel was a total wreck, and the crown and other regalia of Thracia were buried under the _débris_.