"A brave act!" exclaimed the old man at her side. "Who is he?"
But she did not hear him. She had fallen back and was gasping supplication, her eyes set upon the old man's face with a stare that meant nothing.
The corner of the building had shut out the picture; it was impossible for her to know that the man and his burden had reached the balcony in safety. Even now, they might be lying on the terrace, riddled by bullets. The concentrated aim of the enemy had not escaped her horrified gaze. The cheering did not reach her ears.
The old man roused her from the stupor of dread. He called her name several times in high, strident tones. Dully she responded. Standing bolt upright in the window she sought out the figure of Marlanx, and pointed rigidly.
"Ah," groaned the old man, "they will not be driven back this time! They will not be denied. It is the last charge! God, how they come! Our men will be annihilated in--Where is he? Now! Ah, I see! Yes, that is he! He is near enough now. I cannot miss him!"
Marlanx was leading his men up to the terrace. A howling avalanche of humanity, half obscured by smoke, streamed up the slope.
At the top of the terrace, the Iron Count suddenly stopped. His long body stiffened and then crumpled like a reed. A score of heavy feet trampled on the fallen leader, but he did not feel the impact.
A bullet from the north wing had crashed into his brain.
"At last!" shrieked the old man at the window. "Come, Miss Tullis; my work is done."
"He is dead, your Grace?" in low, awed tones.
"Yes, my dear," said the Duke of Perse, a smile of relief on his face. "Come, let me escort you to the Prince. You have been most courageous. Graustark shall not forget it. Nor shall I ever cease thanking you for the service you have rendered to me. I have succeeded in freeing my unhappy daughter from the vile beast to whom I sold her youth and beauty and purity. Come! You must not look upon that carnage!"
Together they left the little room. As they stepped into the narrow hall beyond they realised that the defenders had been driven inside the walls of the Castle. The crash of firearms filled the halls far below; a deafening, steady roar came up to them.
"It is all over," said the Duke of Perse, hobbling across the hall and throwing open the door to a room opposite.
A group of terrified women were huddled in the far corner of the spacious room. In front of them was the little Prince, a look of terror in his eyes, but with the tiny sword clutched in his hand--a pathetic figure of courage and dread combined. The Duke of Perse held open the door for Loraine Tullis, but she did not enter. When he turned to call, she was half way down the top flight of stairs, racing through the powder smoke toward the landing below.