Von der Tann and Butzow and Leopold of Lutha stood in silence as the American passed out of sight beyond the portal.

The manner of his going had been an affront to the king, and the young ruler had gone red with anger.

“Butzow,” he cried, “bring the fellow back; he shall be taught a lesson in the deference that is due kings.”

Butzow hesitated.  “He has risked his life a dozen times for your majesty,” said the lieutenant.

Leopold flushed.

“Do not humiliate him, sire,” advised Von der Tann.  “He has earned a greater reward at your hands than that.”

The king resumed his pacing for a moment, coming to a halt once more before the two.

“We shall take no notice of his insolence,” he said, “and that shall be our royal reward for his services.  More than he deserves, we dare say, at that.”

As Barney hastened through the palace on his way to his new quarters to obtain his arms and order his horse saddled, he came suddenly upon a girlish figure gazing sadly from a window upon the drear November world—­her heart as sad as the day.

At the sound of his footstep she turned, and as her eyes met the gray ones of the man she stood poised as though of half a mind to fly.  For a moment neither spoke.

“Can your highness forgive?” he asked.

For answer the girl buried her face in her hands and dropped upon the cushioned window seat before her.  The American came close and knelt at her side.

“Don’t,” he begged as he saw her shoulders rise to the sudden sobbing that racked her slender frame.  “Don’t!”

He thought that she wept from mortification that she had given her kisses to another than the king.

“None knows,” he continued, “what has passed between us.  None but you and I need ever know.  I tried to make you understand that I was not Leopold; but you would not believe.  It is not my fault that I loved you.  It is not my fault that I shall always love you.  Tell me that you forgive me my part in the chain of strange circumstances that deceived you into an acknowledgment of a love that you intended for another.  Forgive me, Emma!”

Down the corridor behind them a tall figure approached on silent, noiseless feet.  At sight of the two at the window seat it halted.  It was the king.

The girl looked up suddenly into the eyes of the American bending so close above her.

“I can never forgive you,” she cried, “for not being the king, for I am betrothed to him—­and I love you!”

Before she could prevent him, Barney Custer had taken her in his arms, and though at first she made a pretense of attempting to escape, at last she lay quite still.  Her arms found their way about the man’s neck, and her lips returned the kisses that his were showering upon her upturned mouth.

Presently her glance wandered above the shoulder of the American, and of a sudden her eyes filled with terror, and, with a little gasp of consternation, she struggled to free herself.