SOPHY OF KRAVONIA
Zerkovitch was in the saddle. "No," he answered.
"But a bumper, Peter, when I've found the Prince!"
He set spurs to his horse and was off at a gallop for Volseni; the road, though high on the hills, was nearly level now.
Peter scratched his head as he looked after him for a moment; then he returned to his mop.
He was just finishing his task, some twenty minutes later, when he heard Sophy's laugh. She and Hollbrandt came from a lane which led up from the lake and joined the main road a hundred yards along towards Volseni. Peter ran and took their horses, and they mounted the causeway in leisurely, pleasant chat. Sophy was in her sheepskin uniform; her cheeks were pale, but the Star glowed. The world seemed good to her that morning.
"And that is, roughly, the story of my life," she said with a laugh, as she reached the top of the causeway and leaned against the rude balustrade which ran up the side of it.
"A very interesting one—even very remarkable," he said, returning her laugh. "But much more remains to be written, I don't doubt, Baroness."
"Something, perhaps," said Sophy.
"A good deal, I imagine!"
She shot a mischievous glance at him: she knew that he was trying to lure from her an avowal of her secret.
"Who can tell? It all seems like a dream sometimes, and dreams end in sudden awakenings, you know."
"If it's a dream, you make an excellent dreamlady, Baroness."
Peter Vassip put his mop and pail down by the stables, and came up and stood beside them.
"Did the mare carry you well to-day, sir?" he asked Max.
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