An armistice had been signed on the day after the last battle, and the sword was sheathed in the valley of the Morava, and Milano IV. remains still prince, but not king, of Servia and Bosnia. With the struggle between Russia and Turkey, on the soil of Servia, Cecil had done. Of what the former for ages has looked forward to--the destruction of the latter--a prophecy of extreme antiquity foretells the accomplishment--a prophecy uttered when, or by whom, no man knows; but eight centuries ago it was read on the brazen horse of an equestrian statue, then ages old, when brought to Constantinople from Antioch. Though weak from the effects of his terrible wound, Cecil was recovering fast; while love and fortune seemed to smile alike upon him; and to him and Fotheringhame pleasant indeed was their journey from Semlin, on the famous Danube, to Monaco, so famous in the Hungarian annals for its terrible battle, and from thence homeward by Vienna and the Netherlands. CHAPTER XXI. 'THE END CROWNS ALL.' A yellow autumn moon in a deep blue sky was pouring a flood of light over the old 'Queen of the North,' throwing the giant shadows of her rock-built fortress far athwart the dark valley below, and of the ridgy masses of the old city of mediæval times, towering high above the long white terraces of the New Town, when Leslie Fotheringhame thankfully deposited his charge--the poor waif whom he had found dying on the bank of the Morava--in one of the many stately hotels in the vicinity of Princes Street; we say thankfully, for though Cecil was recovering, he was still weak enough to render the prediction of Count Palenka something unpleasant to remember. 'Now, Cecil, a bumper of Moselle, as a refresher after our long day's journey, and then I go to meet those at the railway, whom, I suppose, you will be right glad to see!' said Fotheringhame, ere he laughingly took his departure in a cab. Cecil drained the wine, and looked around him, half fearing that he might be dreaming--and that the spacious room, the brilliant gaselier, the Turkey carpet, the tiger-skin before the stately white marble mantelpiece, the great mirror in which his own pallid face and eyes unnaturally bright with long suffering were reflected, might pass away. How much had he seen of misery, how much bitterness of thought, and how much peril had he undergone since last he had surroundings such as these! Could it all be real, that within an hour, perhaps, Mary's hands would be in his?