The procession was moving
steadily up the aisle.
Among the clan of Von der Tann a young girl with wide eyes was
bending forward that she might have a better look at the face of the
king. As he came opposite her her eyes filled with horror, and then
she saw the eyes of the smooth-faced stranger at the king's side.
They were brave, laughing eyes, and as they looked straight into her
own the truth flashed upon her, and the girl gave a gasp of dismay
as she realized that the king of Lutha and the king of her heart
were not one and the same.
At last the head of the procession was almost at the foot of the
chancel steps. There were murmurs of: "It is not the king," and "Who
is this new impostor?"
Leopold's eyes were searching the faces of the close-packed nobility
about the chancel. At last they fell upon the face of Peter. The
young man halted not two paces from the Regent. The man went white
as the king's eyes bored straight into his miserable soul.
"Peter of Blentz," cried the young man, "as God is your judge, tell
the truth today. Who am I?"
The legs of the Prince Regent trembled. He sank upon his knees,
raising his hands in supplication toward the other. "Have pity on
me, your majesty, have pity!" he cried.
"Who am I, man?" insisted the king.
"You are Leopold Rubinroth, sire, by the grace of God, king of
Lutha," cried the frightened man.
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