We were yet a good many miles from it when down the dusty road towards us came a horseman, and fifty yards or so behind him another.
"The Prince--none rides like our Karl!" said Jorian, familiarly, under his breath, but proudly withal.
"He comes alone!" said I, wonderingly.

For indeed Duke Casimir of the Wolfsberg never went ten lances' length from his castle without a small army at his tail.
"Even so!" replied Jorian; "it is ever his custom.

The officer who follows behind him has his work cut out--and basted.

Not for nothing is our Karl called Prince Jehu Miller's Son, for indeed he rides most furiously." Before there was time for more words between us a tall, grim-faced, pleasant-eyed man of fifty rode up at a furious gallop.

The first thing I noticed about him was that his hair was exactly the same color as his horse--an iron-gray, rusty a little, as if it had been rubbed with iron that has been years in the wet.
He took off his hat courteously to the Princess.
"I bid you welcome, my noble lady," said he, smiling; "the cages are ready for the new importations." The Lady Ysolinde reached a hand for her husband to kiss, which he did with singular gentleness.