Prince Gabriel was in complete control at Serros and was disposed to
laugh at the demands of his late captors. His half-brother, the
dethroned Prince Dantan, was still hiding in the fastnesses of the
hills, protected by a small company of nobles, and there was no hope
that he ever could regain his crown. Gabriel's power over the army was
supreme. The general public admired Dantan, but it was helpless in the
face of circumstances.
"But why should Axphain seek to harass Graustark at this time?" demanded
Beverly Calhoun, in perplexity and wrath. "I should think the brutes
would try to help her."
"There is an element of opposition to the course the government is
taking," the officer informed her in his own way, "but it is greatly in
the minority. The Axphainians have hated Graustark since the last war,
and the princess despises this American. It is an open fact that the
Duke of Mizrox leads the opposition to Princess Volga, and she is sure
to have him beheaded if the chance affords. He is friendly to Graustark
and has been against the policy of his princess from the start."
"I'd like to hug the Duke of Mizrox," cried Beverly, warmly. The officer
did not understand her, but Aunt Fanny was scandalized.
"Good Lawd!" she muttered to the boxes and bags.
As the coach rolled deeper and deeper into the rock-shadowed wilderness,
Beverly Calhoun felt an undeniable sensation of awe creeping over
her. The brave, impetuous girl had plunged gaily into the project which
now led her into the deadliest of uncertainties, with but little thought
of the consequences.
The first stage of the journey by coach had been good fun. They had
passed along pleasant roads, through quaint villages and among
interesting people, and progress had been rapid. The second stage had
presented rather terrifying prospects, and the third day promised even
greater vicissitudes. Looking from the coach windows out upon the quiet,
desolate grandeur of her surroundings, poor Beverly began to appreciate
how abjectly helpless and alone she was. Her companions were ugly,
vicious-looking men, any one of whom could inspire terror by a look. She
had entrusted herself to the care of these strange creatures in the
moment of inspired courage and now she was constrained to regret her
action. True, they had proved worthy protectors as far as they had gone,
but the very possibilities that lay in their power were appalling, now
that she had time to consider the situation.
The officer in charge had been recommended as a trusted servant of the
Czar; an American consul had secured the escort for her direct from the
frontier patrol authorities. Men high in power had vouched for the
integrity of the detachment, but all this was forgotten in the mighty
solitude of the mountains. She was beginning to fear her escort more
than she feared the brigands of the hills.