Oh, sweetly fall the April days!   My love was made of frost and light,
  Of light to warm and frost to
The sweet, strange April of her ways.
Eyes like a dream of changing skies,
And every frown and blush I prize.
  With cloud and flush the spring comes in,
  With frown and blush maids' loves begin;
For love is rare like April days.
—L. Frank Tooker.
 
Mrs. Claiborne excused herself shortly, and Shirley, her father and the Ambassador talked to the accompaniment of the shower that drove in great sheets against the house. Shirley was wholly uncomfortable over the turn of affairs. The Ambassador would not leave until the storm , and meanwhile Armitage must remain where he was. If by any chance he should be discovered in the house no ordinary excuses would explain away his presence, and as she pondered the matter, it was Armitage's plight—his injuries and the dangers that him—that was uppermost in her mind. The that lay in the affair for herself if Armitage should be found in the house troubled her little. Her heart beat wildly as she realized this; and the look in his eyes and the quick pain that his face at the door haunted her.
 
The two men were talking of the new order of things in Vienna.
 
"The trouble is," said the Ambassador, "that Austria-Hungary is not a nation, but what Metternich called Italy—a expression. Where there are so many loose ends a strong grasp is necessary to hold them together."
 
"And a weak hand," suggested Judge Claiborne, "might easily lose or them."
 
". And a man of character and spirit could topple down the card-house to-morrow, pick out what he liked, and create for himself a new edifice—and a stronger one. I speak . Von Stroebel is out of the way; the new Emperor-king is a weakling, and if he should die to-night or to-morrow—"
 
The Ambassador lifted his hands and snapped his fingers.
 
"Yes; after him, what?"
 
"After him his scoundrelly cousin Francis; and then a stronger than Von Stroebel might easily fail to hold the disjecta membra of the Empire together."
 
"But there are shadows on the screen," remarked Judge Claiborne. "There was Karl—the mad prince."
 
"Humph! There was some red blood in him; but he was impossible; he had a of democracy, treason, rebellion."
 
Judge Claiborne laughed.
 
"I don't like the combination of terms. If treason and rebellion are of democracy, we Americans are in danger."
 
"No; you are a miracle—that is the only explanation," replied Marhof.
 
"But a man like Karl—what if he were to reappear in the world! A little democracy might solve your problem."
 
"No, thank God! he is out of the way. He was enough to take himself off and die."
 
"But his ghost walks. Not a year ago we heard of him; and he had a son who chose his father's exile. What if Charles Louis, who is without heirs, should die and Karl or his son—"
 
"In the of God they are dead. Impostors gain a little brief notoriety by pretending to be the lost Karl or his son Frederick Augustus; but Von Stroebel satisfied himself that Karl was dead. I am quite sure of it. You know dear Stroebel had a genius for gaining information."
 
"I have heard as much," and Shirley and the smiled at Judge
Claiborne's tone.
The storm was diminishing and Shirley grew more . Soon the Ambassador would leave and she would send Armitage away; but the mention of Stroebel's name rang oddly in her ears, and the curious way in which Armitage and Chauvenet had come into her life awoke new and anxious questions.
 
"Count von Stroebel was not a , at any rate," she said. "He believed in the divine right and all that."
 
"So do I, Miss Claiborne. It's all we've got to stand on!"
 
"But suppose a democratic prince were to fall heir to one of the European thrones, insist on giving his crown to the poor and taking his oath in a frock coat, ups............