"Our motives were frankly selfish," Trafford went on. "The favour of the good Weidenbruckers had to be retained, and it was necessary to do something notable to obtain permanent possession of their good graces." He paused a moment, toyed with his revolver, and looked fixedly at Gloria and then back again at Karl. Then he went on deliberately: "If we return without having killed or captured one, Karl, styling himself King of Grimland, we shall be returning to a nest of hornets. You see my point?" Karl eyed the revolver thoughtfully. "Yes, I see your point," he said; "I saw it long before you put it before me. Having failed to abduct me, only one course is open to you. Here I am, unarmed, alone, scarcely recovered from an anæsthetic, shaken by a fall. The moon gives ample light, and your revolver is loaded." "Precisely," said Trafford. "My course is so obvious! A pressure of the first finger, a puff of smoke, and a brave man groaning in the snow! There are but two objections: firstly, I am not a butcher; secondly, you took it upon you a little while ago to defend the honour of my wife!" "Your wife?" "Yes. The lady who is now more or less disguised as a private of the line, did me the honour of bestowing on me her hand in the Chapel Royal of the Neptunburg. When Bernhardt,--playing his part,--hinted at her shame, your kingly spirit refused to hear ill even of your enemy. For that,--if for no other reason,--I am steering clear of regicide." Karl passed his hand across his brow, as if the news was too much for his dazed senses. "You and Gloria von Schattenberg are man and wife?" he gasped. "On paper," Trafford affirmed, "on paper only. In reality we are nothing to each other, and as events are turning out, never will be anything to each other. But I am a proud man, proud of the secret bond between us, though our vows were meaningless and of no value; and because you took it upon you to defend the honour of my 'paper' spouse, I give you your life and wish you God-speed." Karl's features twitched in the moonlight, and his breath seemed to come with difficulty. "You are a generous foeman," he said at length. "Not more so than yourself," Trafford retorted. "When I,--also playing my part,--swore death to 'the cursed American Trafford,' you vowed you would like me for a guest, with whom to fight old battles over old Tokay. I am fond of Tokay," Trafford went on, "and I am fond of reminiscences; also I know a man when I see one. Karl, King of Grimland, will you give me your hand?" Karl stretched out his hand and gripped the other's. He seemed searching for words, but no words came. Trafford read many things in the labouring chest and the dimmed eye, and his heart kindled.