reverts to a villain--no matter who. But in this case the villain
is Black Michael. Ha! What say you, lad? Shall we frustrate the
rascal, by having YOU personate the King?"

I was--well!--intoxicated at the thought! But what would my
sister-in-law say? Would she--in her Nonconformist conscience--
consider it strictly honorable? But I swept all scruples aside. A
King was to be saved! "I will go," I said. "Let us on to
Kohlslau--riding like the wind!" We rode like the wind, furiously,
madly. Mounted on a wild, dashing bay--known familiarly as the
"Bay of Biscay" from its rough turbulence--I easily kept the lead.
But our horses began to fail. Suddenly Spitz halted, clapped his
hand to his head, and threw himself from his horse. "Fools!" he
said, "we should have taken the train! It will get there an hour
before we will!" He pointed to a wayside station where the 7.15
excursion train for Kohlslau was waiting.

"But how dreadfully unmediaeval!--What will the public say?" I
began.

"Bother the public!" he said gruffly. "Who's running this dynasty--
you or I? Come!" With the assistance of Fritz he tied up my face
with a handkerchief to simulate toothache, and then, with a shout
of defiance, we three rushed madly into a closely packed third-
class carriage.

Never shall I forget the perils, the fatigue, the hopes and fears
of that mad journey. Panting, perspiring, packed together with
cheap trippers, but exalted with the one hope of saving the King,
we at last staggered out on the Kohlslau platform utterly