"I cannot say"--she hesitated. "Yes, the marriage vow is a serious thing, and this wedding,--as I warned you,--can be no more than a solemn mockery. I am Queen of Grimland. You are a brave man and a gentleman--but you are not a prince of blood royal." "The Traffords are not people of particularly humble origin," he retorted drily. "Nor would it affect me if they were. But the State would never sanction my marriage with a commoner." "Then is it worth while going through the mockery?" he demanded. "I have asked myself that question, and the answer is that you find me here. My word is pledged." "Your word, but not your heart." "Ah, but I once told you that I had no heart." "Then you uttered a falsehood," he insisted. "Your heart,--whose existence you deny,--bled at the thought of Karl's suffering. Your heart, which was disposed to entertain some kindly emotion for me, has cooled towards me because I compassed Karl's cruel demise." "Go on, wise man!" "I will not ask you if I am right," pursued Trafford, "for I read acquiescence in those tear-spoiled eyes. But I will say one thing more: as Queen of Grimland your marriage to me will be null and void. What if you are deposed from your sovereignty, and became again Gloria von Schattenberg, the exile?" "That will not occur just yet," she replied. "I am not so certain," he mused. "What if those rumours mentioned by Gottfried were true in substance and in fact? What if Karl really escaped with General Meyer and Saunders and others to Weissheim? What if Grimland's King is still in his own country, alive, alert, surrounded by sage counsel and loyal hearts? Is your position then so very sure?" "But Karl was put into the _Eisenmädchen_," she protested wonderingly. "So were you," was Trafford's retort. "I--yes. But you had unscrewed all the spikes. The Maiden was as harmless as an unfanged snake." "I put those spikes in my overcoat pocket," said Trafford slowly. "They are still--in my overcoat pocket." For a dazed moment Gloria stood staring at him. Then she reeled--literally--grasping at the altar rails for support. "You put him into the Iron Maiden--to save his life?" she gasped. "That was my rough idea. You see, I am an American, and I hate killing things--especially brave things. There are plenty of men I would kill in the heat of battle--one or two, perhaps, whom I would kill without much heat, but Karl,--whatever his deeds or misdeeds,--was playing the man that night in the Palace yard, and I would sooner have cut off my right hand then have done him an injury. Forgive me, your Majesty, for I served you badly. Providence, which gave me a fair share of muscle and brute courage, was stinting to me in the matter of logic. I should have been logical and replaced the spikes in the _Eisenmädchen_." "Herr Trafford!"