At a sign from the Czar the Duke of Bora stepped forward to renew his challenge.

"Barbara Lilieska," he said amid a solemn hush, "I call upon you either to resign the crown you have usurped, or to defend it at the sword's point. Appoint your champion. My desire is for a man that we may fight together."

"Have, then, your desire!" cried a firm, clear voice.

All eyes were immediately turned towards the speaker who had just entered the cathedral by the western porch,--a young man with face bronzed as if by eastern suns, his handsome, athletic figure arrayed in a dark-blue uniform with silver facings.

"Paul Woodville, by all that's holy!" cried Zabern in an ecstacy of delight.

"The man who defeated me at Taj.a.pore," murmured the Czar darkly.

Amid a scene of wild excitement Paul moved towards the choir, his long cloak hanging gracefully from his shoulders, his sabre clanking heavily upon the cathedral pavement.

Barbara, her heart beating wildly, her lips parted in a smile, half of pride, half of fear, watched him, knowing for what purpose he was advancing.

Paul reached the edge of the choir, and picking up the duke's gauntlet, which had lain untouched for an hour, he tossed it disdainfully against its owner's face.

"Duke of Bora, I will do battle with you to the death on behalf of the princess."

"One moment, young sir," said Polonaski. "You cannot nominate yourself. The appointment rests with the lady. Do you accept this man as your champion?" he added, turning to Barbara.

"Oh, no, no!" cried Barbara. "This must not be."

A minute previously she had been longing to triumph over the Czar; now the princess was lost in the woman. She would rather resign her throne than put Paul's life to such terrible hazard.

The anguish pictured on her face, her clasped hands, her form bent forward, attested the state of her feelings towards the handsome young Englishman. There was not one person in the cathedral ignorant of the cause of her emotion. Her love for Paul, and the reason of his going away, were matters well known to all the Czernovese. His sudden return at this crisis imparted an additional interest to a tableau already thrilling.

"By heaven, your Highness must accept him," whispered Zabern in her ear. "I have tested his swordsmanship in the _salle d'armes_ with a view to this very event, and I know that the duke has no chance against him."

Barbara remained silent. A struggle was taking place in her mind. The high spirit that had sustained her during the terrible strain of the last twenty-four hours was beginning to give way. Her crown had never brought her anything but sorrow. Why not resign it, and depart with Paul to his own Kentish home, that home which he had so often described to her,--a fair castellated hall shaded with beech-trees beside a cool lake! Far happier the life of an English lady than that of a princess ruling over a semi-barbarous people.

Polonaski had marked Zabern's triumphant smile at the appearance of Paul, and that smile made him somewhat uneasy, implying as it did a firm belief in Paul's ability to overcome the duke.

"Was not Captain Woodville banished from Czernova?" he asked; "because if so he has no right to be on Czernovese ground."

"Captain Woodville retired from Czernova of his own free will,"

replied Zabern. "The cabinet signed no decree of banishment against him."

Barbara was still wavering in mind.

"Stick to your throne," growled Zabern.

"To hold it as a va.s.sal of the Czar!" she murmured faintly.

"Fear not. We'll find a way of defeating his claim of suzerainty.

What! will you desert the faithful Poles who have so long stood by you? Will your Highness resign your throne to the duke, a traitor and a.s.sa.s.sin, when you have the opportunity of giving him his final quietus? Who slew Trevisa? Who burnt the Charter? Who has brought the Russian army within our borders? Who but the duke? And now will you let him triumph? Give the word for the duel. Princess, I know, I _know_," he added emphatically, "that Captain Woodville will come off victorious."

At this point the Czar spoke.

"The princess so-called must either appoint a champion or prepare to abdicate."

Despair seized the Poles at the thought of being ruled by Bora,--Bora, who in his cups had been heard to declare that when he should come to power, he would harness the Polish n.o.bles to the yoke, and compel them to plough his fields.

Loud murmurs arose at Barbara's reluctance to accept Paul as her champion.

"Appoint him, your Highness, appoint him," was the cry.

"Let Captain Woodville slay the duke, and receive the hand of the princess as his reward," cried Zabern. "Have I not said?" he added, addressing the a.s.sembly.

The cathedral rang with a shout of applause, a shout that doomed the princely marriage statute to the limbo of obsolete things. Zabern had voiced the sentiments of the Poles. Better an unt.i.tled Englishman than Bora.

At that moment the first stroke of twelve chimed from the cathedral clock. Barbara's decision, if given after the hour, would be too late.

To his dismay Zabern saw that she was on the point of swooning.

"The word, princess, the word!" he cried, almost savagely.

"Barbara, say the word," pleaded Paul gently.

She looked at him, and was unable to resist the wistful, earnest appeal of his eyes.

"I accept--Captain Woodville--as--my--my champion," she gasped. "Oh!

what have I done?" she added in the next moment. And as the twelfth stroke of the clock died away, she swayed helplessly forward and sank unconscious into Paul's arms. He surrendered her light form to the care of her attendant ladies, who immediately bore her away from the choir to the sacristy which had served as her robing-room.

"Duke of Bora," cried Zabern, with an exultant smile, "your last hour has come!"

CHAPTER XIX

THE CORONATION DUEL

Those who had come to the cathedral in the expectation of witnessing an interesting ceremony were beginning to find that the reality far surpa.s.sed the antic.i.p.ation.

A series of dramatic episodes had occurred in quick succession, but the climax of all was now reached when it became known that the throne of Czernova was to be put to the hazard of a duel, and a duel that was to ensue immediately within the walls of the cathedral itself, an arrangement due to the initiative of Zabern; for, as according to the statute the combat must take place that same day, he had proposed that it should be fought at once upon the open pavement fronting the choir.

"A duel within a cathedral!" exclaimed Radzivil in amazement.

"Why not?" asked Zabern coolly.

"This is a consecrated place. The wilful shedding of blood here is forbidden by the Church."

"Well, let's take the opinion of the Church as expressed in the person of Faustus."

Now, sad to relate, that mitred abbot dearly loved to witness a good fight, for he had been a soldier ere adopting the monastic profession, and the old Adam was still strong within him.

"This cathedral is holy ground," he began.