heavy tears.  The next day, the stranger went to the monastery where the order of good monks lived who had taken care of the Lost Prince.  When he had left Samavia, the secret society was formed, and the members of it knew that an Ivor Fedorovitch had passed through his ancestors’ country as the servant of another man.  But the secret society was only a small one, and, though it has been growing ever since and it has done good deeds and good work in secret, the huntsman died an old man before it was strong enough even to dare to tell Samavia what it knew.”

“Had he a son?” cried Marco.  “Had he a son?”

“Yes.  He had a son.  His name was Ivor.  And he was trained as I told you.  That part I knew to be true, though I should have believed it was true even if I had not known.  There has always been a king ready for Samavia—­even when he has labored with his hands and served others.  Each one took the oath of allegiance.”

“As I did?” said Marco, breathless with excitement.  When one is twelve years old, to be so near a Lost Prince who might end wars is a thrilling thing.

“The same,” answered Loristan.

Marco threw up his hand in salute.

“‘Here grows a man for Samavia!  God be thanked!’” he quoted.  “And he is somewhere?  And you know?”

Loristan bent his head in acquiescence.

“For years much secret work has been done, and the Fedorovitch party has grown until it is much greater and more powerful than the other parties dream.  The larger countries are tired of the constant war and disorder in Samavia.  Their interests are disturbed by them, and they are deciding that they must have peace and laws which can be counted on.  There have been Samavian patriots who have spent their lives in trying to bring this about by making friends in the most powerful capitals, and working secretly for the future good of their own land.  Because Samavia is so small and uninfluential, it has taken a long time but when King Maran and his family were assassinated and the war broke out, there were great powers which began to say that if some king of good blood and reliable characteristics were given the crown, he should be upheld.”

“His blood,”—­Marco’s intensity made his voice drop almost to a whisper,—­“his blood has been trained for five hundred years, Father!  If it comes true—­” though he laughed a little, he was obliged to wink his eyes hard because suddenly he felt tears rush into them, which no boy likes—­“the shepherds will have to make a new song—­it will have to be a shouting one about a prince going away and a king coming back!”

“They are a devout people and observe many an ancient rite and ceremony.  They will chant prayers and burn altar-fires on their mountain sides,” Loristan said.  “But the end is not yet—­the end is not yet.  Sometimes it seems that perhaps it is near—­but God knows!”

Then there leaped back upon Marco the story he had to tell, but which he had held back for the last—­the story of the man who spoke Samavian and drove in the carriage with the King.  He knew now that it might mean some important thing which he could not have before suspected.