The sight of this outbreak of emotion spoke again to each Hungarian heart; and, with still wilder and louder shouts of frenzied enthusiasm, the cry of "MORIAMUR PRO REGE NOSTRO!" rang again through the hall of the Castle of Presburg, until the old walls trembled to their base. Tears sprang from many of the sternest eyes, and rolled down many a withered cheek. But they were tears of pity, admiration, and fury. All rancour, discontent, political difference, purpose of treachery, had been forgotten. The cause of Maria Theresa had been won! Long it was before the tumult of the many voices ceased, or the flashing sabres were restored to their scabbards. And when at length the murmur in the hall was somewhat stilled, the aged archbishop advanced to the side of Maria Theresa, who, with her eyes streaming with tears, stood up at once. He attempted to speak in the name of the Hungarian nation in answer to her appeal. But the old man's voice failed him; and only in broken accents, which scarcely could be heard beyond the throne, could he utter a few words of fervent devotion, and pray God to bless her. In his turn also, the Palatin, Count Pallfy, stepped forward and spoke of supplies and men. But his voice, also, was drowned in the enthusiastic shouts which promised to the persecuted Queen the succour of the very life's blood of her faithful Hungarians, and the aid of their fortunes to the last florin. It could scarcely at last be heard, as the official declaration was made of the opening of the Diet and of the sittings to be held, at which the necessary measures to be taken to be debated. Then again rose the shouts, as Maria Theresa attempted to thank her faithful subjects. She could no longer speak; but she waved her hand to them, with a graceful gesture, and a look of gratitude which betrayed the depth of her feelings. Otmar's heart again beat tumultuously. He closed his eyes, as if to shut out from his very heart the dangerous sight of her who held over it so powerful a fascination. When he again looked up, she had descended from the throne. She was gone. Overpowered by the various conflicting feelings which had so powerfully assailed him in the last short hour, the young noble followed instinctively the crowd as it streamed out of the great hall; and it was only when he found himself in a large ante-room, somewhat severed from the general mass, that he stopped and threw himself down upon a bench near a doorway, to collect his confused and scattered thoughts. He remained for a time lost in a reverie, from which he was aroused by a tap upon his shoulder. Before him stood a boy, in a military dress, whose mien bore all the boldness and pertness of a page. "_Servus, domine!_" said the youth, with an impudent air. "What want you with me?" asked Otmar sharply. "I do not know you, sir. This is some mistake."