Close packed were the retainers of the old prince so that their great number was scarcely noticeable, though quite so was the fact that they kept their cloaks on, presenting a somber appearance in the midst of all the glitter of gold and gleam of jewels that surrounded them--a grim, business-like appearance that cast a chill upon Peter of Blentz as his eyes scanned the multitude of faces below him.
He would have shown his indignation at this seeming affront had he dared; but until the crown was safely upon his head and the royal scepter in his hand Peter had no mind to do aught that might jeopardize the attainment of the power he had sought for the past ten years.
The solemn ceremony was all but completed; the Bishop of Lustadt had received the great golden crown from the purple cushion upon which it had been borne at the head of the procession which accompanied Peter up the broad center aisle of the cathedral. He had raised it above the head of the prince regent, and was repeating the solemn words which precede the placing of the golden circlet upon the man's brow. In another moment Peter of Blentz would be proclaimed the king of Lutha.
By her father's side stood Emma von der Tann. Upon her haughty, high-bred face there was no sign of the emo-tions which ran riot within her fair bosom. In the act that she was witnessing she saw the eventual ruin of her father's house. That Peter would long want for an excuse to break and humble his ancient enemy she did not believe; but this was not the only cause for the sorrow that overwhelmed her.
Her most poignant grief, like that of her father, was for the dead king, Leopold; but to the sorrow of the loyal sub-ject was added the grief of the loving woman, bereft. Close to her heart she hugged the memory of the brief hours spent with the man whom she had been taught since childhood to look upon as her future husband, but for whom the all-consuming fires of love had only been fanned to life within her since that moment, now three weeks gone, that he had crushed her to his breast to cover her lips with kisses for the short moment ere he sacrificed his life to save her from a fate worse than death.
Before her stood the Nemesis of her dead king. The last act of the hideous crime against the man she had loved was nearing its close. As the crown, poised over the head of Peter of Blentz, sank slowly downward the girl felt that she could scarce restrain her desire to shriek aloud a protest against the wicked act--the crowning of a murderer king of her beloved Lutha.
A glance at the old man at her side showed her the stern, commanding features of her sire molded in an expression of haughty dignity; only the slight movement of the muscles of the strong jaw revealed the tensity of the hidden emotions of the stern old warrior. He was meeting disappointment and defeat as a Von der Tann should--brave to the end.
The crown had all but touched the head of Peter of Blentz when a sudden commotion at the back of the cathe-dral caused the bishop to look up in ill-concealed annoy-ance. At the sight that met his eyes his hands halted in mid-air.
The great audience turned as one toward the doors at the end of the long central aisle. There, through the wide-swung portals, they saw mounted men forcing their way into the cathedral. The great horses shouldered aside the foot-soldiers that attempted to bar their way, and twenty troop-ers of the Royal Horse thundered to the very foot of the chancel steps.
At their head rode Lieutenant Butzow and a tall young man in soiled and tattered khaki, whose gray eyes and full reddish-brown beard brought an exclamation from Captain Maenck who commanded the guard about Peter of Blentz.
"Mein Gott--the king!" cried Maenck, and at the words Peter went white.
In open-mouthed astonishment the spectators saw the hurrying troopers and heard Butzow's "The king! The king!
Make way for Leopold, King of Lutha!"
And a girl saw, and as she saw her heart leaped to her mouth. Her small hand gripped the sleeve of her father's coat. "The king, father," she cried. "It is the king."Old Von der Tann, the light of a new hope firing his eyes, threw aside his cloak and leaped to the chancel steps beside Butzow and the others who were mounting them. Behind him a hundred cloaks dropped from the shoulders of his fighting men, exposing not silks and satins and fine velvet, but the coarse tan of khaki, and grim cartridge belts well filled, and stern revolvers slung to well-worn service belts.
As Butzow and Barney stepped upon the chancel Peter of Blentz leaped forward. "What mad treason is this?" he fairly screamed.
"The days of treason are now past, prince," replied But-zow meaningly. "Here is not treason, but Leopold of Lutha come to claim his crown which he inherited from his father.""It is a plot," cried Peter, "to place an impostor upon the throne! This man is not the king."For a moment there was silence. The people had not taken sides as yet. They awaited a leader. Old Von der Tann scrutinized the American closely.
"How may we know that you are Leopold?" he asked.
"For ten years we have not seen our king."
"The governor of Blentz has already acknowledged his identity," cried Butzow. "Maenck was the first to proclaim the presence of the putative king."At that someone near the chancel cried: "Long live Leo-pold, king of Lutha!" and at the words the whole assemblage raised their voices in a tumultuous: "Long live the king!"Peter of Blentz turned toward Maenck. "The guard!" he cried. "Arrest those traitors, and restore order in the cathe-dral. Let the coronation proceed."
Maenck took a step toward Barney and Butzow, when old Prince von der Tann interposed his giant frame with grim resolve.
