“Three—­besides yourself.  Dagmar, Quinnox and Captain Dangloss.  The Abbot will know later on, and I shiver as I think of it.  The driver and the man who went to your cell, Ogbot, know of the escape, but do not know I am here.  Allode—­you remember him—­is our driver.”

“Allode?  He’s the fellow who saw me—­er—­who was in the throne room.”

“He is the man who saw nothing, sir.”

“I remember his obedience,” he said, laughing in spite of his unhappiness.  “Am I to have no freedom up here—­no liberty, at all?”

“You are to act as the Abbot or the prior instructs.  And, I must not forget, Quinnox will visit you occasionally.  He will conduct you from the monastery and to the border line at the proper time.”

“Alas!  He will be my murderer, I fear.  Yetive, you do not believe I killed Lorenz.  I know that most of them do, but, I swear to you, I am no more the perpetrator of that cowardly crime than you.  God bears testimony to my innocence.  I want to hear you say that you do not believe I killed him.”

“I feared so at first,—­no, do not be angry—­I feared you had killed him for my sake.  But now I am sure that you are innocent.”

The carriage stopped too soon and Quinnox opened the door.  It was still as dark as pitch, but the downpour had ceased except for a disagreeable, misty drizzle, cold and penetrating.

“We have reached the stopping place,” he said.

“And we are to walk from here to the gate,” said the Princess, resuming her hoarse, manly tones.  While they were busy donning their rain coats, she whispered in Lorry’s ear:  “I beg of you, do not let him know that you have discovered who I am.”

He promised, and lightly snatched a kiss, an act of indiscretion that almost brought fatal results.  Forgetful of the darkness, she gave vent to a little protesting shriek, fearing that the eyes of the captain had witnessed the pretty transgression.  Lorry laughed as he sprang to the road and turned to assist her in alighting.  She promptly and thoughtfully averted the danger his gallantry presented by ignoring the outstretched hands, discernible as slender shadows protruding from an object a shade darker than the night, and leaped boldly to the ground.  The driver was instructed to turn the carriage about and to await their return.

With Lorry in the center the trio walked rapidly off in the darkness, the fugitive with the sense of fear that belongs only to a blind man.  A little light far ahead told the position of the gate, and for this they bent their steps, Lorry and Quinnox conversing in low tones, the Princess striding along silently beside the former, her hand in his—­a fact of which the real soldier was totally unaware.  Reaching the gate, the captain pounded vigorously, and a sleepy monk soon peered from the little window through which shone the light.

“On important business with the Abbot, from Her Royal Highness, the Princess Yetive,” said Quinnox, in response to a sharp query, spoken in the Graustark tongue.  A little gate beside the big one opened and the monk, lantern in hand, bade them enter.