The Argosy, April 1912 — page 128: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

114 THE ARGOSY. was not until Fardulf stopped before a low house in a narrow, unlighted street that Philip realized again where he was. Fardulf knocked quietly but firmly upon the door, and it finally opened, showing the frightened face of Dagobert, Philip’s squire, who had not been with his master during the revolt of the Saxons that had carried the Breton away, and had, therefore, re- turned bewildered to his home to await de- velopments. Philip’s last visit to Regens- burg, on the occasion of Hildegarde’s wedding to Pepin had not, of course been | long enough to admit of his attaching him- self to his lord, as usual. Now the young fellow and his aged mother were overcome at the honor thrust upon them, and hastened to make all pre- parations for the entertainment of such noble guests. After a hearty supper Philip told Far- dulf, who was dropping to sleep with weariness, that he was going forth into the public square for an hour to try the prac- tise of his disguise once more. Muttering a sleepy warning, the monk gave his as- sent, and Philip, slipping on his woolen hood, stepped into the street and turned toward the palace. Arrived there, he walked round it many times, familiarizing himself with the lay of the land. He moved with a limp, as- sumed a bent back, and, to the questions of inquisitive guards, replied in a hollow tone. The soldiers laughed good-naturedly and let him wander about to his heart’s content. He had finally turned away to go back, when suddenly he heard rapid footsteps be- hind him, and a moment later some one laid a hand on his arm. “ Holy man,” said the fellow, whom Philip recognized as a special guard about the palace, “come with me at once. Your serv- ices are instantly commanded.”’ “Where?” asked Philip. “In the palace,’ replied the other. ‘Are there no bishops at hand that you should call upon a poor, unknown country monk ?”’ remonstrated the Breton in a panic of fear at the possibilities of his situation. “No!” cried the other angrily. “ Will you stand here and argue all night, bump- kin? You are commanded to come with me. Say no more, but follow.” For an instant Philip had an insane de- sire to turn on his heel and flee, but in a moment he remembered that such an action might result in suspicion. Much to the Breton’s relief his guide took him to the postern entrance, from which the corridors and great halls of the palace could be traversed with little dan- ger of meeting throngs of people. Up and up he followed, then down long, flagged hallways, dim with sconced can- dles, until it seemed that the other’s object was exercise, and nothing more. But at last the guard halted before a broad arras that filled an arched doorway, and, signing the other to wait, entered. In- side, Philip could hear a feminine voice in consultation, and then his guide came out and told him to step within. He pushed the arras aside and limped into a high, square room, in the corner of which stood a wrought-iron bed. A few footstools and a rough bench completed the furniture, but it was not upon these that the eyes of the Breton burned with such fire through his mask. Upon the bed lay Queen Fastrada, and the monk’s heart beat fast with anger and hatred. Looking about him he saw that the guard had disappeared, and that he was alone with the queen, whose pale face, and thin, emaciated body betrayed a rav- aging sickness. CHAPTER XII. THE QUEEN’S CONFESSION. For an instant or two Philip stood irreso- lute. Then, as the eyes of the queen turned toward him, he bowed low and waited for her to speak. “Father,” she said at last, in a faint voice, “draw nearer that I may speak with you in private.” Philip stepped forward, and, at her com- mand, brought a low footstool upon which to sit, all the time watching her face nar- rowly for any sign of recognition. “Your name, good priest,” she continued when he had settled himself. “Dominic, your majesty,” replied Philip. “Uncover your face that I may look upon you. I do not wish to speak into a black mask.” “I crave your indulgence,” replied the Breton, “but that I may not do. I have made a vow that my face shall not be seen until a happiness that I have long desired shall be mine.” “And what is that?” asked the queen, her curiosity aroused by this strange man. comicaoolkks CO