"As you will," returned the grand duke indifferently. He hesitated an instant, his eyes fixed pleadingly upon his nephew’s face. "Oscar," he went on swiftly, "your father, the king, has sent me to beg of you to come home to your family, your people, your country. He wants you. He needs you. You cannot realize the nature of the step you have taken. You acted hastily—heedlessly. For the honor of the throne, Oscar, I beg of you—I beseech you—to give up your harebrained scheme and resume again the place in life to which you were born." There was no gleam of mirth in the face of the crown prince now. It was firm and serious and a little white; his eyes were fixed unfalteringly on his uncle’s face. "And what of my wife?" he asked quietly. A flicker of pain flashed into the grand duke’s face and was gone. "There are ways——" he began hesitatingly. "Ways!" broke in the prince swiftly. "What ways? You mean a morganatic marriage, I suppose. You know that is impossible, even if I would consider it. She is an American girl." Lawrence, standing a little behind the duke, listening with an interest he made no attempt to conceal, noticed how the faint, foreign intonation—it could hardly be called an accent—in the young man’s voice was intensified in a moment of excitement. The grand duke did not answer at once, and, when finally he spoke, there was a hopeless undercurrent in his voice which showed clearly that he had little hope of his argument meeting with success. "Under the laws of Ostrau," he said in a low tone, "a woman without royal or noble blood cannot marry into the reigning family. She, therefore, has no standing as your wife. In Ostrau the bond does not exist, and you would be free to marry your father’s choice, Princess Olga, of Gratz." The young man’s lips curled and his eyes narrowed. "Never!" he exclaimed impulsively. "She’s ten years too old and a thousand times impossible. Luckily," he went on more composedly, "we’re in America, not Ostrau, and I propose to stay here. I’m beastly sorry, uncle, for your sake. We’ve always been great pals, and ever since I was a kid I’ve loved you more than my august father. I’d do anything else for you gladly, but this is impossible. I’ll renounce my rights to the succession for myself and my heirs forever. Let Maurice be crown prince, can’t you? He’ll make a lot better king than I ever could. All I want is to be let alone; to be free to live my own life and be happy in my own way. Ostrau stifles me with its foolish, cramping etiquette and narrow bigotry. It’s ruined your life, and I’ll take precious good care——" He broke off abruptly as the grand duke groaned and covered his face with one hand. "Forgive me, uncle!" the prince begged. "I didn’t mean to hurt you. I forgot myself. But you understand," he went on softly, "because you, too, have suffered." *CHAPTER XLV.* *THE GIFT OF THE RING.*