Chapter XVI: Beyond Recall

“Oh, Nym, I am so frightened!”

“Why? About what your father will say, do you mean?”

“No; it’s something I have done.”

“What wickedness have you been up to now? An infant like you!--aren’t you ashamed of yourself?”

“Not exactly ashamed,” said Helene seriously, “but terrified.”

“Hadn’t you better confess? My mind is duly prepared for horrors.”

“If you’ll call me Little Nell, I will.”

“Little schemer, I think. Well, Little Nell?”

Helene put her hand through his arm, and clasped his wrist tightly. “It seemed such a splendid idea when it came to me first. It was the very evening that we were--engaged, you know, and I was so happy I could not sleep, and rather frightened, too, because mamma had been sitting by me and crying, and saying all the relations would be so angry. Then I remembered that the Emperor Sigismund was hunting near Neuburg this week, and I thought I would write to him, and get him on our side. And I did.”

“How frightfully enterprising! And what does he say?”

“There hasn’t been time for an answer yet. But last night it seemed to me that it would have been so much better not to write to him until--until everything was over, you know. And the answer might come to-day, if he wrote at once. And I am so frightened. I don’t know what to do.”

“It strikes me you’re much too independent for an engaged young woman. You deserve a good scolding. Why didn’t you say anything to me?”

“I thought it would be such a nice surprise. I never imagined he might be angry, somehow. Please scold me, Nym. Then perhaps I shall not be so frightened.”

“I don’t think there’s much need for me to scold you,” said Usk gravely, rising to look down the path which led to the Lauterbach plateau from the lower world. He and Helene were sitting on the roof of the Moorish kiosk which was one of the less bizarre erections scattered about the gardens, and commanded one of the widest views. “There are people coming up, Lenchen, and one of them looks like----”

“Not cousin Sigismund himself? Oh, Nym!” She was white and trembling, and her hands gripped his arm convulsively. “Can’t we escape?”

“Where to? Why, Nell, what is there to be afraid of? He can’t eat you.”

“But if he should want to send you away? He shan’t, he shan’t! If he does, I will go too. You won’t give me up, Nym?”

“You silly child! I shan’t be asked. They’ll want you to give me up.”

“Then we are quite safe, for I won’t.”

“He’s looking this way; he’s seen you, Nell. Wave your hand and don’t be frightened. We’ve done nothing to be ashamed of.”

“Of course not. I’m not ashamed. Oh, Nym, he is telling the rest to ride on. He is dismounting and coming up here. What shall we do? Let us go down--quick!”

“Remember that you’ll have to ask if you may present me,” said Usk hurriedly as he followed her down the outside stair. At the foot he waited, expecting Helene to go forward alone to greet the soldierly man in hunting costume and Tyrolese hat who had just mounted the knoll on which the summer-house stood, but she caught his arm and dragged him forward with her.

“Oh, cousin Sigismund, please--this is Usk!”

A more informal presentation there could not have been, and the Emperor, finding his hand forced, looked almost embarrassed and decidedly annoyed. He acknowledged Usk’s presence coldly, greeted Helene with paternal kindness, and sat down on the piazza of the summer-house, motioning her to a seat beside him; but she preferred to stand, still gripping Usk’s arm as though to hold him fast.

“I don’t think your friend will run away, Lenchen,” said the Emperor, with an involuntary smile, as he glanced at the two culprits before him; and Helene laughed nervously as she released Usk’s arm, still retaining her hold of his hand, however. Her eyes sought her cousin’s face anxiously.

“I suppose you know you are a very fortunate young man?” said the Emperor abruptly to Usk; and both hearers felt that it was not at all what he had intended to say.

“Most fortunate, sir.” Usk squeezed Helene’s hand reassuringly.

“Have you any explanation to offer of your pres----” Usk felt that Helene darted a look of angry reproach at the questioner--“of the ambition which has led you to seek an alliance with the house of Schwarzwald-Molzau?”

“I can’t say it was exactly ambition, sir. I--I love the Princess----”

“I love him,” interrupted Helene calmly.

The Emperor frowned. “My dear cousin, as a favour to me, allow Lord Usk to answer for himself. Do you intend to seek a career in Germany, Lord Usk? You hold a commission in the British army, I believe?”

“Only in the Yeomanry, sir. If I might speak freely to your Majesty----”

“By all means. That is what I desire.”

“I have no wish to live anywhere but in England, sir. I am my father’s only son, and have many ties at home. I hope to enter Parliament before long, and devote myself to a political career.”

“And we shall live in a tall, narrow black house in a square, and I shall drive him to the House of Commons every evening, and sit up and look out quotations for his speeches until he comes back,” said Helene ecstatically.

“At least you have not idealised the prospect!” said the Emperor drily to Usk, then turned to Helene. “My dear little cousin, might I ask you to be so very kind as to go and tell your mother of my arrival? You will do me this favour, won’t you?”

“If you command me as Emperor, I suppose I must,” said Helene undauntedly, though Usk could feel that she was shaking; “but for anything short of that I can’t--I mean, I won’t go.”

“Really we could talk business much better,” said Usk, aghast, and at his wits’ end to know how to act and speak without either offending the Emperor or wounding Helene’s feelings. She looked at him with high disdain.

“The Emperor wishes to get rid of me that he may say things to you which will make you give me up, but he shall say them before me, or not at all.”

“As you will, little cousin,” said the Emperor carelessly. Then he turned suddenly a penetrating gaze on Usk. “What part does this intended marriage of yours play in the plans of your uncle Count Mortimer? If there is any question of a revival of your father’s preposterous claim to the throne of Thracia, understand that it will not be permitted. The unbridled ambition of you Mortimers has already endangered the peace of Europe too often.”

This time it was Usk who could not help smiling. “If your Majesty knew my father, you would see how strange it sounds to hear you speak of unbridled ambition in connection with him. He went to Thracia against his will, led on by circumstances, and left it with the most intense pleasure. He would do anything rather than go back there or allow me to go.”

“You will find it more generally accepted that your father’s ambition failed him at a critical moment. He aspired to enter the ranks of reigning sovereigns without submitting to their limitations, and preferred a marriage of affection to one arranged for state reasons. I am only doing honour to the foresight of that most accomplished statesman, Count Mortimer, when I say that if the marriage he projected for his brother with the lady who is now the Dowager Princess of Dardania had taken place, we should probably have had a Mortimer dynasty firmly established in Thracia to-day, and the Balkans would be less of a menace to European peace. But your father withdrew from Thracia, and neither he nor his son will be allowed to return there.”

“May I remind your Majesty that my uncle has devoted his life to the work of strengthening the throne of the present King of Thracia?”

“I do not presume to fathom your uncle’s plans. But I see that he has reappeared on the political stage after the check he received in the Scythian occupation of Jerusalem, and I augur badly from that.”

“Indeed, sir, he is visiting Europe purely on King Michael’s account.”

“And yet I know him to be at this moment the centre of a widely extended conspiracy, the object of which is to establish him as ruler of Palestine. You would have me believe that he contrives to ally himself with half the reigning houses of Europe in a fit of absence of mind, as you English like it to be thought that you built up a world-empire? No; if Count Mortimer really wished only to set the affairs of Thracia in order, and return as a private person to his retreat in the desert, his judgment is at fault. He should have married his stepson to the Princess Helene, and you to the American heiress, leaving her in her original obscurity until the wedding was over.”

“But I would never have married Michael!” cried Helene, in dismay.

“You would if Count Mortimer had wished you to do so, much as you are now marrying his nephew, my dear Lenchen,” was the reply. Helene was about to make an angry answer, but Usk stopped her.

“It is not for me to defend my uncle,” he said hesitatingly, “but if your Majesty would grant him even a short interview, I think he would be able to convince you of the honesty of his intentions.”

“Count Mortimer is as yet scarcely in a position that would entitle him to ask for an interview,” was the reply, “and in view of the propaganda he is carrying on, I must decline to receive him in audience. My Chancellor would no doubt be interested in his plans if he cared to impart them to him. I can quite believe that you have the fullest belief in your uncle,” this as Usk was digesting the snub as best he might, “but it is merely another proof of his astuteness. If you have any regard for his safety, you might warn him that to persist in his present course will be dangerous in the extreme. He is too much of a firebrand to be left at large in Europe, and if I feel this, what must be the sensations of those whose policy he is deliberately opposing? He will do well to bury himself in the desert again as soon as possible. This morning I should have advised him also to give up all hope of the ambitious alliance he has devised for you, but provided that you and your father refuse to allow yourselves to be drawn into his schemes----” the Emperor paused.

“Oh, you are going to be kind? You will take our part?” gasped Helene.

“Certainly not. I cannot bestow my approval on such marriages as this, but in the circumstance, and especially if Count Mortimer leaves Europe immediately, I will not oppose it.”

“The Princess Helene and I are most grateful to you, sir,” said Usk, wondering that Helene did not speak. But as the Emperor rose to meet her mother, who had heard of his arrival and come to look for him, she pressed her lover’s arm.

“You do believe that I love you, Nym? Even if we have to part, you will never let anything keep you from believing that?” and her face was pale and anxious again.

“Why, of course not!” said Usk. “But what should part us now?”

It happened that Queen Ernestine was spending the morning at the Schloss, and when the Grand-Duchess brought in the Emperor she was unable to escape, much to her disgust. The Emperor was very glad to meet her, and anxious to talk to her about King Michael’s marriage, but he was careful only to allude to Cyril as if he were still a trusted minister of state. The Queen had far too much _savoir faire_ to expose herself to such a rebuff as Usk had incurred, but it was gall and wormwood to her that her husband’s existence should be thus pointedly ignored. Her cousin had played a prominent part in bringing about her unhappy first marriage, and this still rankled in her mind, so that the time seemed interminable to her which she spent in answering his questions and receiving his suggestions. The Emperor departed after lunch, and she returned quickly to Luisenruh, where Cyril came out to greet her with a smile.

“Well, Ernestine, so you have had a visitor? The excursions and alarms penetrated even to my quiet retreat here. Was he in a good temper?”

“I think so--for him. He won’t object to Usk’s marrying Helene, though he doesn’t approve of it, and I am thankful for that. And he approves of all that has been arranged about Michael--thinks that Molzau is quite the best place for the wedding, and that your idea of getting my aunt Amalie to escort Félicia to meet her father’s people is excellent. But, Cyril----”

“I thought there was something behind. What is it?”

“I don’t think he wants you to be at the wedding.”

“Is that all? I never thought of being there. The apple of discord would be nothing to me. The party would scarcely separate without bloodshed.”

“Then I shall certainly not go either.”

“My dear Ernestine, you must. How could you, Michael’s own mother, and on excellent terms with him, be absent? Without me you will have no difficulties about precedence. Do you think I could stand your reducing yourself to a Countess, as I know you would do when you saw me relegated to my proper place? You must think of Michael’s feelings a little.”

“I shall speak to Michael. He can’t be so ungrateful as to let you be slighted after all you have done for him.”

“What can Michael do when he comes in conflict with the unbending laws of etiquette? No, Ernestine, listen; I have it all nicely mapped out. We shall both be at Helene’s wedding, at any rate; we won’t let them do me out of that. Then we will pick up your aunt Amalie and run down to Nice again, and see Félicia safely into the hands of her father’s family. You will return to Molzau for the wedding, and I shall go on to Thracia. Michael and Mirkovics have give me _carte blanche_ as to reorganising the government offices, so as to prevent corruption in future, and you will join me at Bellaviste. Then we shall be ready to welcome Michael and Félicia, and as soon as they have settled down we will take our leave and be off to Sitt Zeynab, and spend a quiet old age dispensing justice to the Arabs under our own palm-trees.”

“But I would rather not wait for that until after the wedding. I should like to go back at once, Cyril--at once, this very day.”

“I’m afraid we can’t annihilate time and space quite to that extent. But I suppose this means that the Emperor has been saying unpleasant things? I have had Helene here, drowned in tears, and offering to give up Usk if his marrying her would really bring me into danger. What does the man mean by trying to frighten two women? Why not say what he has to say to me?”

“He told me distinctly that you were in danger as long as you remained in Europe and persisted in your schemes. Poor little Lenchen must have heard the same.”

“Probably. If we were punished as severely for our evil deeds as for our good ones, we should come off pretty badly, shouldn’t we, Ernestine? I’m sure the best thing I ever did in my life was when I threw myself on your mercy and induced you to marry me, and I’m tolerably certain the next best was bringing Usk and Helene together, and yet it’s just those two things these people can’t forgive me.”

“But must you stay, Cyril? Do let us go.”

“Before we have seen the young people made happy? No, no; we’ll see the thing through after having so much to do with it.”

“Well, then, as soon as Michael’s wedding is over, you can meet me at Trieste, and we will leave for Beyrout at once. Why should you run into danger for the sake of Prince Malasorte?”

“It’s not that. I failed my friends when they trusted me, and now that they have thrown in their lot with Malasorte, I won’t spoil their plans a second time, as I should do if I left Europe before he brings off his _coup d’état_. They trust him, and I don’t, but if I can help them a bit by getting public suspicion concentrated on me instead of him, I will. And that’s my last word, Ernestine.”

With a couple of weddings approaching, there was no time to lose, and the Schwarzwald-Molzau family were most anxious to get the less important of the two over, and be able to devote themselves to the preparations for the gorgeous state ceremonial which would mark the marriage of King Michael. Hence Usk made a hasty business journey to England very shortly after the Emperor’s visit, and when he returned it was in company with his parents, who were duly installed by the Grand-Duke, not with the best possible grace, in a wing of the great Schloss at Molzau. The transaction with the Aberkerran and Western Hills Railway Company, to which Cyril had alluded, proved, when carried out on the lines he suggested, highly beneficial to Lord Caerleon’s exchequer; and he was able to leave on the minds of the Molzau people an impression of sober magnificence which checked any misgivings as to the match their little Princess was making. Quite unintentionally, Lord Caerleon also produced a distinct impression on the Grand-Duke, who revenged himself afterwards by alluding to him as “the stone image,” but at the time actually asked Cyril whether his brother would like to be received with the honours due to an ex-sovereign, purely as a compliment, of course, and without prejudice to King Michael’s rights. Cyril declined the offer on Caerleon’s behalf, but he derived a good deal of amusement as well as relief from the fact that his brother could overawe the irascible Grand-Duke to such an extent that the occasion was not marked by a single burst of temper. The wedding was very quiet. Princess Theresia induced her mother to be present, and that amiable lady, who was always at her daughter’s beck and call, shed the lustre of her historic jewels on the ceremony, but Europe as a whole turned its head away and refused to be aware of what was taking place. When the wedding was over, the bride and bridegroom, with what Usk regarded as a preposterous retinue of servants, and Helene as the lowest number with which it would be respectable to travel, betook themselves to the Lebanon, where they were to meet Philippa and her husband, who had been prevented from coming to the wedding by the authoritative claims of a son and heir only a month old. The Grand-Duchess, who had maintained for the past three months a defiant attitude towards circumstances irresistibly suggestive of a ruffled hen defending its brood, bewailed the loss of Helene with floods of tears to Lady Caerleon, Queen Ernestine, Princess Florian, and Princess Resi by turns, and then settled down to her usual duty of acting as a buffer between her husband and his surroundings. Lord and Lady Caerleon returned to England, and Cyril and his wife journeyed back to Nice, in company with Princess Amalie of Weldart, the Queen’s aunt, who disapproved highly of Helene’s marriage, but had not been able to bring herself to stay away from the wedding.

Félicia was now very near the realisation of her hopes. Princess Amalie, who was her great-aunt, was to take charge of her at Nice and deliver her over to Don Ramon of Arragon, who was to await her with his family at the Pannonian seaport close to which her father’s youth had been passed. Her position was now recognised in the Court circle, and after the reception by her uncle it would be made evident to the world. With considerate regard for the endurance both of Félicia and her new-found relatives, it had been arranged that her marriage with King Michael was to follow as soon as the long journey from the coast to Molzau would allow, and this visit to Nice was for her a delightful whirl of congenial toils. Dresses, jewellery, furs, decorations and furniture for the palace at Bellaviste, servants’ liveries, the exact constitution of her court, all these things had to be thought of, discussed, decided upon. King Michael was determined to spare no pains nor expense in gratifying the wishes of his bride; and it was well that Félicia had the good taste and loving advice of the Baroness Radnika at hand, and also the wide experience of Mr Hicks, whose sarcastic humour restrained her from not a few follies. Revelling in the interest she excited, for her story had long since leaked out, she was absolutely busy and perfectly happy, save for one shadow of a cloud in her sky.

“Maimie,” she exclaimed incredulously, as they were looking through the letters and papers that awaited them on their arrival at Nice. “Come and look here--right now. Usk is married!”

“Well, I guess he hasn’t wasted much time lamenting you,” said Maimie.

“It’s to the Grand-Duke’s daughter, the little pale girl--and they haven’t ever told us!”

“Why, you know every one said she must be in love with some other man when she was engaged to the Scythian Prince and looked so miserable. Of course it was Usk, and now Count Mortimer has had him marry her.”

“He’ll be real good to her,” said Félicia slowly.

“What’s that to you, any way?” was the sharp response.

“Oh, I don’t know. Say, Maimie, is the ‘chapel attached to the Grand-Ducal Palace at Molzau’ the same as the Schlosskirche where I’m to be married? No bridesmaids, of course--I do hate that. I always meant to design the cunningest costumes for my bridesmaids. ‘The Marchioness of Caerleon was gowned in panne of an exquisite shade of heliotrope, with the famous family emeralds’--guess she looked just elegant, don’t you? ‘Her Royal Highness Princess Florian of Arragon in _gris argent_ brocade, the corsage almost covered with the magnificent Mohacsy diamonds,’ ‘the Princess Franz Immanuel of Schwarzwald-Molzau’--that’s my cousin Resi, of course--‘in pink satin and pearls.’ What did the Grand-Duchess wear, I’d like to know? Crimson velvet, I guess. ‘The bride’s travelling-dress was trimmed with exquisite Eastern embroidery, sent from Palestine by the bridegroom’s sister, Lady Philippa Mansfield.’ Did Phil mean that for me when she bought it, do you think, Maimie? But there don’t seem to be much to say about her wedding-gown--just that she wore the Caerleon pearls. I guess I shall go one better in gowns, any way.”

“I just know you will,” responded Maimie. “Why, you’ll be a queen, Fay.”

“That is so.” Félicia’s tone sounded a little wistful. “I can’t seem to feel real happy, Maimie. It’ll be you and me one side, and Michael the other, all the time. Being queen will be just elegant, but---- Michael’s awfully in love with me, but I don’t trust him, and he don’t trust me.”

“And Usk you did trust,” cried Maimie, much alarmed by the turn the conversation was taking, “and he marries another girl right away, before you’re married yourself, even. Don’t you see the way it is, Fay? It’s just that he won’t look as if he had been jilted--just pride, and not anything more. He don’t care a red cent for this other girl, but he’s set on making you mad. I wouldn’t have him do it.”

“No, I don’t feel mad, only a little sorry. And not real sorry, either, for I wouldn’t go way back now. It’s just that it’s the end, Maimie.”

“That’s so, and I’m real glad of it, for you won’t ever be able to reproach yourself about Usk again. And as to Michael, don’t be afraid. We’ll fix him up some way. You and I will have some place just all to ourselves, so’s we can forget all of the stuff the Baroness has been teaching us, and have a good time together, chewing gum and talking the way we choose, and no other person shall come in there.”

“And you don’t hate turning into a hired girl?” asked Félicia, rather doubtfully.

“Not a cent, so long as you are queen. I’d as lief be hired girl as not, so’s I can fix it that I wait on you. They won’t turn you into a statue while I’m around.”

It was only when she was alone with Félicia that Maimie ventured to speak thus freely nowadays. She had fallen quite naturally into the position of her friend’s confidential lady-in-waiting, and had profited by the teachings of Baroness Radnika a good deal more readily than Félicia herself. Her influence was invaluable, said the Baroness, and no one dreamed of the absolute equality to which the two girls returned when they were unobserved. When Princess Amalie arrived, she took a great fancy to Maimie. Félicia was just a little difficult to manage sometimes, she admitted, “but that good creature Logan” could nearly always persuade her to see reason. Princess Amalie was a cheerful old lady, whose temper did not seem to have been soured by the fact that her lack of beauty had driven her family to provide for her by making her a canoness. The semi-conventual title ensured her a position of independence, a sufficient income, and a home at the Stift, or Institution, whenever she was not visiting her relations, which was very seldom, for she made up for not possessing a family of her own by taking the keenest interest in the affairs of her large circle of nephews and nieces. In nearly all the Courts of Europe she was “everybody’s aunt,” and every one confided in her, although she had a perfect genius for betraying secrets to the very people to whom they ought not to be told. Very soon after her arrival at Nice Félicia knew of all the discourteous and uncomplimentary remarks her uncle Don Ramon had made when he found himself forced to acknowledge an American niece, and Maimie had heard a second time that Cyril had advised King Michael to get rid of her before he married Félicia. Both of them had drunk in with keen delight Princess Amalie’s account of the disgust felt by all the younger branches of the Schwarzwald-Molzau family and their relations over Helene’s marriage, and the almost total lack of wedding-presents and royal guests. It was this which pleased Félicia most, but Maimie took an even greater pleasure in the further resolution which seemed to have been generally formed by King Michael’s family, that they would not attend his wedding if Count Mortimer was to be present. Any slight inflicted upon the man who had tried to separate her from Félicia she accepted as a boon to herself, and it happened that there was another person who felt with her.

About three days after Princess Amalie’s arrival, it struck her suddenly that she ought to call upon the Princess of Dardania, who was also her niece, but whom she had not seen for some time, owing to the unfortunate series of events which had long ago alienated the Princess from her relations. Félicia was driving with Queen Ernestine, with whom she agreed as well as could be expected when they had not a single taste or thought in common, and as Princess Amalie’s own _dame d’honneur_ was ill, she borrowed Maimie for the afternoon. Maimie had by this time become accustomed to being regarded as a mere chattel, an appendage to Félicia, and was by no means loath to accompany the old lady, from whose chatter she expected to pick up a good deal of useful information. She knew that the Princess of Dardania had an old grudge against Count Mortimer, and as she sat silent and apart during the visit, holding Princess Amalie’s lap-dog, she heard, as she had anticipated, the canoness beginning her tale afresh. Every disparaging remark, every calculated rebuff, was detailed over again, the Princess of Dardania listening with lazy satisfaction, commenting on what she heard rather with her great black eyes and arched eyebrows than by word of mouth.

“Then what is the poor Count to do, while Ernestine queens it at Molzau, and he is shut out?” she asked at last. “Will he go to England, to his brother?”

“I don’t quite know,” said Princess Amalie, unwilling to confess herself at a loss. “Ah, but Miss Logan will know. They were explaining their plans to Félicia last night, and she was there.”

“And did Miss Logan happen to hear how Count Mortimer proposed to enjoy his week of liberty?” asked the Princess.

“He is going to Thracia, madame, and her Majesty is to join him there.”

“To Thracia--from the south of Pannonia? It will be a long journey.”

Maimie was conscious of something in the Princess’s tone which seemed like repressed excitement. She answered promptly, “He intends to go through Illyria, madame. There is only a few miles of country between the Pannonian and Mœsian railways, and he will save time by driving from one to the other instead of taking the long round.”

“To drive across Illyria---- Ah!” said the Princess slowly. Again there was that hint of eagerness in her manner, and Maimie caught it. The Princess looked up, and saw the responsive sparkle in her eye. Instantly her own face changed. “Illyria is a country of very beautiful scenery. I have travelled there a good deal,” she said, with a dead calmness in her tone, and Maimie was left to wonder what memory, or what project, had provoked that sudden excitement. For some reason she suspected that it did not bode well for Count Mortimer, and she was glad of it, though it was not evident to her what the Princess could do to annoy him.

A few days later, the Bluebird left the Western Mediterranean for the port at which Don Ramon of Arragon was to welcome his niece. The Queen and Cyril were on board, so was Princess Amalie, and so also was Mr Hicks, who was understood to occupy the position of the late Prince Joseph’s man of business. A high honour was awaiting Félicia, for the Emperor of Pannonia happened to be visiting the port; and when Don Ramon’s arrival was delayed, through some accident or mistake which was hinted not to be altogether accidental, he took upon himself the duty of welcoming her and Princess Amalie. Queen Ernestine went northwards to Molzau, Cyril started on his journey to Thracia, and Félicia, with her train of followers, was delivered into the hands of her uncle. He proved to be a stern-faced elderly man, early soured by the loss of all his prospects, and interested in humanity only from the point of view of a student of brain disease. His wife was so completely his shadow that she was known as “la Ramona” at the Pannonian Court; but she had individuality enough to disapprove very heartily of heretics, Americans, and people who were not _hoffähig_ generally, and to regard Félicia as an example of all three. The daughters were uninteresting girls, keenly on the look-out for something shocking in everything their new cousin said or did, and Félicia expressed privately to Maimie her opinion that even if her whole fortune had been divided among them they would not have married. But these unpleasing family characteristics were merely spots in the sun. Félicia’s ambition was on the eve of attainment. She was recognised as a daughter of Arragon, and as the Princess Doña Feliciana Josefa was on her way to Molzau to receive a crown--and incidentally, to marry a king.