Long Live the King

Excerpt: ...trembled as he said it. Thereupon I sat down and gave them a complete summary of all that had happened that afternoon. In conclusion I produced the photograph the dying man had given me, and handed it to my mother for her inspection. "Yes, it is undoubtedly he," she began at last, when she had been gazing at it with tearful eyes for upwards of a minute. "It is my poor Max! God be thanked for His mercy!" My father next examined it, after which he handed it to Ottilie, whose opinion coincided with ours. Indeed there could be no possible doubt about the matter. Anyone who had ever seen Max would have been sure to recognise him in the picture. It was indeed a happy party that retired to rest that night. At last it looked as if the lost one would be found, and the wandering sheep brought back to the fold. Early next day, after bidding those at home a fond good-bye, I travelled to Southampton, and by nightfall was on board ship and in mid-Channel. Fortunately, there were no passengers travelling by the boat with whom I was acquainted, or who even knew me by sight. This at least was something to be thankful for. To make assurance doubly sure, however, I had adopted another plan. Feeling certain that, if it became known that Prince Paul of Pannonia were visiting Brazil, telegrams would be dispatched to the newspapers of that country, and thus Max would be given sufficient warning to enable him to get out of my way; I had followed his example, and booked my passage in the name of Mortimer. As plain Mr. Mortimer, therefore, I was known on board. Of the voyage out nothing need be said. We touched at Lisbon and St. Vincent in due course, and, when that island lay behind us, settled ourselves down to while away the voyage across the Atlantic as pleasantly as we knew how. At last we reached Rio. It would be impossible for me to describe the varied emotions that filled my breast as we steamed through those wonderful straits into the harbour behind. Save for short...