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The Lost Prince Frances Hodgson Burnett

XXX The Game Is at an End

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The elder man looked at her with a swift cold glance. He did not speak to her, but to Lazarus. ``What is she doing here?'' he demanded.

Marco answered him. ``She is afraid we cannot pay our rent,'' he said. ``It is of great importance to her that she should be sure.''

``Take her away,'' said the gentleman to Lazarus. He did not even glance at her. He drew something from his coat-pocket and handed it to the old soldier. ``Take her away,'' he repeated. And because it seemed as if she were not any longer a person at all, Mrs. Beedle actually shuffled down the passage to the cellar-kitchen steps. Lazarus did not leave her until he, too, had descended into the cellar kitchen, where he stood and towered above her like an infuriated giant.

``To-morrow he will be on his way to Samavia, miserable woman!'' he said. ``Before he goes, it would be well for you to implore his pardon.''

But Mrs. Beedle's point of view was not his. She had recovered some of her breath.

``I don't know where Samavia is,'' she raged, as she struggled to set her dusty, black cap straight. ``I'll warrant it's one of these little foreign countries you can scarcely see on the map--and not a decent English town in it! He can go as soon as he likes, so long as he pays his rent before he does it. Samavia, indeed! You talk as if he was Buckingham Palace!''

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The Lost Prince
Frances Hodgson Burnett

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