Long Live the King by Guy Boothby (sites to read books for free TXT) 📖

it then, I asked myself, that the self-same troops were engaged in hunting instead of protecting us? It was a riddle I could not answer, try how I would, and my mother's explanation, that it was because they hated her, served to intensify rather than to dispel my bewilderment. I was about to interrogate Max, on whose wisdom I was accustomed to rely, on the subject, when we were suddenly called to action. Running as fast as his short legs could carry him, the little man burst upon our group with the alarming intelligence that the soldiers were about to search the wood. Though we had been expecting it, and were even waiting for it, the news came upon us like a thunder clap.

"What can we do to escape them?" cried my mother, wringing her hands in an agony of terror. Then turning to my father she continued: "Whatever happens they must not take the children. Save them at any hazard."

Even in that moment of danger she gave no thought to herself. It will always remain my firm conviction that she would have yielded up her own life joyfully, if by so doing she could have been sure of saving ours.

"There is nothing for it but for us to hide in the trees and take our chance," began my father, for once coming forward with a suggestion. "If we are perfectly quiet and the snow covers our tracks, it is just possible that they may not become aware of our presence."

In order that you may understand the value of the idea, it should be explained that the trees of which the wood was composed were a species of pine--I cannot recall their botanical name--with long, low branches that stretched out and touched the ground on every side. It was within the bounds of possibility that if we scrambled in among the snow-laden boughs and crouched down, our presence might not be observed, but it was a very slender chance upon which to trust our lives. However, within a few seconds of the man's sounding the alarm, we were all stowed away out of sight. I scrambled into a tree with my mother and Max; my father, Gabriel, and my mother's woman were hidden in another; while the remainder of the party distributed themselves as best they could. Then followed another interval of suspense, during which we expected to hear every moment the tramp of the soldiers' chargers on the snow, and to find a lance come driving into the tree to turn us out. With anxious eyes we watched the tell-tale footmarks on the ground, knowing that upon them our lives depended. Heaven be thanked, however, the snow was falling fast, and every second's delay meant a greater chance of safety. A quarter of an hour went by and still the troopers did not come. The delay was difficult to account for. Had the man made a mistake when he had said that he had seen them preparing to search the wood? I had turned my face up to my mother's and was about to address a remark to her on the subject, when a look of terror flashed into her face, and she had clapped her hand upon my mouth to prevent me from speaking. It was well that she did, for, looking through the branches, I saw coming towards us, and not a dozen paces distant, a stalwart cavalryman, mounted upon a bay horse. He was covered by a heavy cloak and had a bundle of hay tied behind his saddle. As he rode toward the tree in which we lay hidden, he hummed a song, the words of which we could plainly distinguish. That he noticed nothing unusual about the ground, and that he was not troubling himself very much on our account, was as plain as his appearance there. At any rate, he passed us without becoming aware how close we were to him. A moment later we heard him call to his companion to know if he had discovered anything.

"I've got the ague, I believe," the other answered. "That's all I've found. I wish his Majesty had discovered it instead of me."

"He's worse off than you are, I'll be bound," returned the first speaker with a considerable amount of truth. "For my part, I wouldn't change places with him."

Then the voice of the officer in command interrupted them. Five minutes later they had left the wood and were on their way along the road upon the other side. We were saved! But it was some time before we recovered from our fright.

An hour later we crossed the Border, and in less than two hours we had placed ourselves under the protection of King George of Gota. Our leave-taking of the brave innkeeper and his equally brave friends the smugglers was of an affecting description. For once my father dropped his cynicism and spoke his mind direct. My mother added her thanks to his, and distributed her rings among the men in token of the gratitude she felt for the service they had rendered us. If we had no other friends in Pannonia we had at least four upon whom we knew we might depend.


CHAPTER IV.


At the end of the previous chapter I described our arrival in the kingdom of Gota, and the farewell we took of the men who had risked so much to bring about our safe arrival there. As it transpired, we arrived only just in time, for two days later my mother was taken seriously ill, and for upwards of a month lay at death's door. During that time the news we received from Pannonia was far from being satisfactory. The Prime Minister, the Count von Marquart, who still remained staunch to my father, had done his best to reduce the country's affairs to something like order, but his efforts were in vain. In consequence he was compelled to beat a hasty retreat to his country seat, and to leave it to its own devices. Trading on the popularity he believed himself to enjoy, the Prince of Lilienhoehe returned from exile, and, assisted by certain notorious enemies of the Ramonyi dynasty, made a vigorous attempt to seize the throne. He also was disappointed in his endeavour, for the country would have neither a Lilienhoehe nor a Ramonyi. What it wanted was a Republic of the French and American description, and a Republic, in hot haste, it was determined to have. As a result the Prince followed our example and crossed the Border with as much despatch as possible.

As soon as my mother was convalescent, it became necessary to arrive at some sort of an understanding as to what our future was to be. To return to our own country was out of the question; for many reasons, too numerous to mention, it was impossible for us to remain in Gota; while the neighbouring kingdoms were equally unsafe. It was King George himself, our host, who solved the problem for us. As a result my tenth birthday found us on English soil. Nowhere else in Europe could we hope to be so safe, and the affection I feel for that country may be said to have originated at the moment we set foot upon her shores. We were welcomed by the country at large, while, with thoughtful generosity, a royal residence was placed at our disposal until we should be in a position to find one for ourselves. This done, however, we settled down to the enjoyment of a quiet country life, and to wait until the course of events should make it possible for us to return to Pannonia once more. The change in our affairs proved exactly to my father's taste. He was no longer worried with the cares and responsibilities of kingship, but was able to give himself up entirely to the studies he so ardently loved. In my own heart I believe that, during the period of years that elapsed before his death, he had but one real fear, and that was the dread lest affairs should right themselves in Pannonia and he be called upon to resume his old life. With my mother it was altogether different. Where he rejoiced at his new-found liberty, she chafed and worried about the change in our lives. She could not forget that she was a king's wife and a king's daughter, and that in England we were exiles, turned out of our country and defrauded of our just rights. Where he scarcely spoke of his old life, and took but small interest in the country of his birth, she was invariably well informed as to all that occurred. She was fighting for her children's rights, and declared that she could never rest, or know any peace of mind, until we had come to our own again. Alas! for her happiness, poor soul, she did not live to see that day.

To Max and myself, accustomed as we were to the excitement of a Court, the new life came as a decided, and by no means welcome, change.

It was not long, however, before we became reconciled to it, and by the time we had been a year in England we could not only speak the language fluently, but were to all appearances veritable sons of the soil. It was a quiet life we led, but not an aimless one. The best of tutors were engaged for us, and the smallest detail of our studies was attended to by my mother with scrupulous exactness. We learnt to play cricket and football, to fence and box like English boys; and in order that our military education should not be neglected, it was decided that as soon as we were old enough, Max and I should enter the British Army, for which my mother entertained the greatest admiration. "The training," she was accustomed to say, "will prove of the greatest value to them when they return to Pannonia," and that seemed to settle it. Strangely enough, however, Max did not hail the arrangement with the delight that she had expected him to show. For some reason, as he grew up, his disposition seemed to change. He, who was at first a headstrong, impulsive boy, was developing into a silent and almost taciturn young man. The notion that he would not succeed to the throne of his ancestors, which he had conceived as a boy, now returned to him with renewed force. It grew with him and thrived upon the thoughts that fostered it. One little incident will be sufficient to show the hold this strange idea had upon him. He was nineteen at the time; I was scarcely sixteen. In appearance he was a tall, fine-looking young fellow, with clean-cut features, dark resolute eyes, and black hair, that he wore in a somewhat foreign fashion. While he was, to all intents and purposes, a man, I was still a boy, fairly well grown it is true, perhaps somewhat advanced for my years, but in many respects as inferior to Max as a child of six is to a lad of twelve.

"My dear," said my father, one morning, addressing my mother, when we sat at breakfast, which, _en passant_, we took together in the homely English fashion, "I have received a letter that you will doubtless consider of some importance. The Count von Marquart is in England, and, with your permission, will pay us a visit to-day. May I instruct Beckerstein to telegraph to the effect that you will receive him?"

A look of pleasure came into my mother's face. What did Marquart's presence in England mean? Did it foretell a change in our lives? She hastened to assure my father that it would give her the utmost pleasure to see the old Minister who had