THE SILVER RING
Meanwhile"—he buckled the leather belt which held his revolver round his waist—"I'm for some breakfast, and then I shall go and ask that tall fellow who did all the talking if there's anything I can do for King Sophia. By Jove! wouldn't Cousin Meg open her eyes?"
"You'll end by getting yourself stuck up against the wall and shot," Basil grumbled.
"If I do, I'm quite sure of one thing, old fellow— and that is that your wooden old mug will be next in the line, or thereabouts."
"I say, Dunst anbury, I wish I could have saved him!"
"So do I. Did you notice her face?"
Williamson gave a scornful toss of his head.
"Well, yes, I was an ass to ask that!" Dunstanbury admitted, candidly. It would certainly not have been easy to avoid noticing Sophy's face.
At six o'clock that morning Max von Hollbrandt took horse for Slavna. His diplomatic character at once made it proper for him to rejoin his Legation and enabled him to act as a messenger with safety to himself. He carried the tidings of the death of the King and of the proclamation—of Sophy. There was no concealment. Volseni's defiance to Slavna was open and avowed. Volseni held that there was no true Stefanovitch left, and cited the will of the last of the Royal House as warrant for its choice. The gauntlet was thrown down with a royal air.
It was well for Max to get back to his post. The diplomatists in Slavna, and their chiefs at home, were soon to be busy with the affairs of Kravonia. Mistitch had struck at the life of even more than his King—that was to become evident before many days had passed.
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