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Updated: June 18, 2025
It wouldn't be only the Secret Party. All Samavia would rise and follow any flag he chose to raise. They've prayed for the Lost Prince for five hundred years, and if they believed they'd got him once more, they'd fight like madmen for him. But there would not be any one to fight. They'd all want the same thing!
Sometimes his face grew white and worn and he breathed hard, but he never rested more than a few minutes, and never turned back or shortened a walk they had planned. "Tell me something about Samavia, something to remember," he would say, when he looked his worst. "When I begin to try to remember, I forget other things."
"He was called in such haste that he had not a moment in which to do more than write a few words. He left them for you on his desk there." Marco walked over to the desk and opened the envelope which was lying there. There were only a few lines on the sheet of paper inside and they had evidently been written in the greatest haste. They were these: "The Life of my life for Samavia."
You must see that I meant that I knew he was giving his heart and strength, his whole being, to Samavia, even though he must stay in London." She started and turned her head to listen to the sound of some one using the latch-key and opening the front door. The some one came in with the heavy step of a man. "It is one of the lodgers," she said.
When they sat together and talked that night, they were closer to each other's souls than they had ever been before. They sat in the firelight, Marco upon the worn hearth-rug, and they talked about Samavia about the war and its heart-rending struggles, and about how they might end. "Do you think that some time we might be exiles no longer?" the boy said wistfully.
He might be passing in the street outside there; he might be up in one of those houses," jerking his head over his shoulder toward the backs of the inclosing dwellings. "Perhaps he knows he's a king, and perhaps he doesn't. He'd know if what you said yesterday was true about the king always being made ready for Samavia." "Yes, he'd know," put in Marco.
But that, as Loristan had said with a tired smile, had been before they had had time to outlive and forget the Garden of Eden. Five hundred years ago, there had succeeded to the throne a king who was bad and weak. His father had lived to be ninety years old, and his son had grown tired of waiting in Samavia for his crown.
"The World couldn't do without war and armies and defences! What about Samavia?" "My father asked him that. And this is what he answered. I learned that too. Let me think again," and he waited as he had waited before. Then he lifted his head. "Listen! This is it: "'Out of the blackness of Disorder and its outpouring of human misery, there will arise the Order which is Peace.
How could he quite believe the evidence of his eyes and ears? A few minutes, only a few minutes, had changed his prettily grateful and kindly acquaintance into a subtle and cunning creature whose love for Samavia had been part of a plot to harm it and to harm his father. What did she and her companion want to do what could they do if they knew the things they were trying to force him to tell?
If any of you have anything to say, speak out before you take the oath." He saw Marco move a little, and he made a sign to him. "You," he said. "Have you something to say?" Marco turned to him and saluted. "Here stand ten men for Samavia. God be thanked!" he said. He dared say that much, and he felt as if his father himself would have told him that they were the right words.
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