“For God’s sake, do not murder me!  Let me go!” cringed the Prince.

“I do not mean that you should kill him now, Quinnox, but I instruct you to do so if he puts foot inside these walls again.  Do you understand?”

“Yes, your Highness.”

“Then you will place this prisoner in the castle dungeon until to-morrow morning, when he is to be taken to the Tower.  Prince Gabriel may accompany you to the dungeon cell, if he likes, after which you will escort him to the gates.  If he enters them again you are to kill him.  Take them both away!”

“Your Highness, I must ask you to write a pardon for the good people in whose house the prisoner was found,” suggested Quinnox, shrewdly seeing a chance for communication unsuspected by the Prince.

“A moment, your Highness,” said the Prince, who had recovered himself cleverly.  “I appreciate your position.  I have made a serious charge, and I now have a fair proposition to suggest to you.  If this man is not produced to-morrow morning I take it for granted that I am at liberty to tell all that has happened in this room to-night.  If he is produced, I shall kneel and beg your pardon.”

The Princess turned paler than ever and knew not how she kept from falling to the floor.  There was a long silence following Gabriel’s unexpected but fair suggestion.

“That is very fair, your Highness,” said Lorry.  “There is no reason why I should not be a prisoner to-morrow.  I don’t see how I can hope to escape the inevitable.  Your dungeon is strong and I have given my word of honor to the captain that I shall make no further effort to evade the law.”

“I agree,” murmured the Princess, ready to faint under the strain.

“I must see him delivered to Prince Bolaroz,” added Gabriel mercilessly.

“To Bolaroz,” she repeated.

“Your Highness, the pardon for the poor old people,” reminded Quinnox.  She glided to the desk, stunned, bewildered.  It seemed as though death were upon her.  Quinnox followed and bent near her ear.  “Do not be alarmed,” he whispered.  “No one knows of Mr. Lorry’s presence here save the Prince, and if he dares to accuse you before Bolaroz our people will tear him to pieces.  No one will believe him.”

“You—­you can save him, then?” she gasped, joyously.

“If he will permit me to do so.  Write to him what you will, your Highness, and he shall have the message.  Be brave and all will go well.  Write quickly!  This is supposed to be the pardon.”

She wrote feverishly, a thousand thoughts arising for every one that she was able to transfer to the paper.  When she had finished the hope-inspired scrawl she arose and, with a gracious smile, handed to the waiting captain the pardon for those who had secreted the fugitive.

“I grant forgiveness to them gladly,” she said.

“I thank you,” said Lorry, bowing low.

“Mr. Lorry, I regret the difficulty in which you find yourself.  It was on my account, too, I am told.  Be you guilty or innocent, you are my friend, my protector.  May God be good to you.”  She gave him her hand calmly, steadily, as if she were bestowing favor upon a subject.  He kissed the hand gravely.