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Updated: June 7, 2025
He's coming this way, Highness," she added in a confidential undertone as if Trusia had not already divined the fact through the back of her regal little head. Nevertheless, the Duchess achieved a very natural surprise as Calvert Carter presented himself before her.
His heart could be heard, he feared, so loudly did it beat. He could feel the great red surges being pumped through arteries, too small for their impulsive torrents. They choked him. "Trusia," he cried hoarsely, for the first time using her Christian name. The entire soul of the man, every particle of his entity, had entered into the saying of that name.
"What can it mean?" asked Trusia, whose heart beat wildly with a surmise she dare not voice. The crest of the mountain was reached. The city lay spread before them. Over the Government buildings floated the Lion of Krovitch. The standard, waving gently in the breeze, seemed beckoning them to approach. "The city is ours," burst simultaneously from their lips.
Below these, crumbling with age, were the antlers of ancestral deer, while arms and armor of heroic mold glimmered from the shadowy niches filled by them for generations. Crossing the hall, the party led by Trusia approached a tapestried-hung archway, whose single sentry raised the heavy folds to admit her to whatever lay beyond.
It was ridden by Trusia. Saladin had not forgotten. As his mistress reined him in, his wide eyes shifted about distrustfully. A quiver ran beneath the satiny flanks while his slender legs trembled. Carter made no effort to conceal his surprise, as he lifted his hat in salutation. "Your Highness," he ejaculated. "Yes," she laughed. "Why, aren't you disappointed? Lady Natalie is.
The Krovitzers, with high-bred courage, spurred forward to meet their opponents, scorning to await the attack of even such superior numbers. "For Trusia!" they shouted, and then, "For Krovitch!" as they engaged with a crash which halted the fugitives by its vehemence.
Their satiny nozzles dripping sparkling drops of water, the horses resumed their progress beneath the forest colonnade. Trusia turned to him. Her resolution had been difficult to reach. "When Krovitch is free," she said, "you must still remain with our army." She observed him covertly as she awaited his reply.
His collar, heavy with gold embroidery, seemed held in place by the Star of the Lion. At his right hand sat Trusia, resplendent and warmly human, while flanking him on the left was the grizzled Sutphen. Carter's place as an aide was far down the side of the table.
He was going to find a husband among strangers for the girl he loved. Obeying an irresistible impulse he looked back. Trusia was standing by the table in the middle of the room. Her left hand leaned on its edge, supporting a weariness shown in the relaxed lines of her figure. Her lips were parted as if in pain, while her eyes seemed searching for Carter as he met her gaze.
Well past the allotted span of years, he has prayed to be spared until the day when he can anoint the head of the King of Krovitch. Then, he says, he will die joyously." The King murmured his hopes for a longer life for the Bishop, and Trusia turned to present her chaperon, the Countess Muhlen-Sarkey, with the remaining gentlemen of the Court.
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