"Fear not. We'll find a way of defeating his claim of suzerainty. What! will you desert the faithful Poles who have so long stood by you? Will your Highness resign your throne to the duke, a traitor and assassin, when you have the opportunity of giving him his final quietus? Who slew Trevisa? Who burnt the Charter? Who has brought the Russian army within our borders? Who but the duke? And now will you let him triumph? Give the word for the duel. Princess, I know, I _know_," he added emphatically, "that Captain Woodville will come off victorious." At this point the Czar spoke. "The princess so-called must either appoint a champion or prepare to abdicate." Despair seized the Poles at the thought of being ruled by Bora,--Bora, who in his cups had been heard to declare that when he should come to power, he would harness the Polish nobles to the yoke, and compel them to plough his fields. Loud murmurs arose at Barbara's reluctance to accept Paul as her champion. "Appoint him, your Highness, appoint him," was the cry. "Let Captain Woodville slay the duke, and receive the hand of the princess as his reward," cried Zabern. "Have I not said?" he added, addressing the assembly. The cathedral rang with a shout of applause, a shout that doomed the princely marriage statute to the limbo of obsolete things. Zabern had voiced the sentiments of the Poles. Better an untitled Englishman than Bora. At that moment the first stroke of twelve chimed from the cathedral clock. Barbara's decision, if given after the hour, would be too late. To his dismay Zabern saw that she was on the point of swooning. "The word, princess, the word!" he cried, almost savagely. "Barbara, say the word," pleaded Paul gently. She looked at him, and was unable to resist the wistful, earnest appeal of his eyes. "I accept--Captain Woodville--as--my--my champion," she gasped. "Oh! what have I done?" she added in the next moment. And as the twelfth stroke of the clock died away, she swayed helplessly forward and sank unconscious into Paul's arms. He surrendered her light form to the care of her attendant ladies, who immediately bore her away from the choir to the sacristy which had served as her robing-room. "Duke of Bora," cried Zabern, with an exultant smile, "your last hour has come!" CHAPTER XIX THE CORONATION DUEL Those who had come to the cathedral in the expectation of witnessing an interesting ceremony were beginning to find that the reality far surpassed the anticipation. A series of dramatic episodes had occurred in quick succession, but the climax of all was now reached when it became known that the throne of Czernova was to be put to the hazard of a duel, and a duel that was to ensue immediately within the walls of the cathedral itself, an arrangement due to the initiative of Zabern; for, as according to the statute the combat must take place that same day, he had proposed that it should be fought at once upon the open pavement fronting the choir.