him tell you that not only
did he never do it; but, what is much more important, he will never do
it again."

The lady herself now timidly drew the curtains apart, and then more
boldly showed herself upon the iron balcony. Leaning over the scarlet
geraniums, she beckoned with both hands. The result was instantaneous.
Philip bolted for the front door, leaving it open; and, as he darted
down the steps, the youthful husband, in strides resembling those of an
ostrich, shot past him. Philip did not cease running until he was well
out of Berkeley Square. Then, not ill-pleased with the adventure, he
turned and smiled back at the house of yellow stucco.

"Bless you, my children," he murmured; "bless you!"

He continued to the Ritz; and, on crossing Piccadilly to the quieter
entrance to the hotel in Arlington Street, found gathered around it
a considerable crowd drawn up on either side of a red carpet that
stretched down the steps of the hotel to a court carriage. A red carpet
in June, when all is dry under foot and the sun is shining gently,
can mean only royalty; and in the rear of the men in the street Philip
halted. He remembered that for a few days the young King of Asturia and
the Queen Mother were at the Ritz incognito; and, as he never had seen
the young man who so recently and so tragically had been exiled from his
own kingdom, Philip raised himself on tiptoe and stared expectantly.

As easily as he could read their faces could he read the thoughts of
those about him. They were thoughts of friendly curiosity, of pity for
the exiles; on the part of the policemen who had hastened from a cross
street, of pride at their temporary responsibility; on the part of the
coachman of the court carriage, of speculation as to the possible amount
of his Majesty's tip. The thoughts were as harmless and protecting as
the warm sunshine.

And then, suddenly and harshly, like the stroke of a fire bell at
midnight, the harmonious chorus of gentle, hospitable thoughts was
shattered by one that was discordant, evil, menacing. It was the thought
of a man with a brain diseased; and its purpose was murder.

"When they appear at the doorway," spoke the brain of the maniac, "I
shall lift the bomb from my pocket. I shall raise it above my head. I
shall crash it against the stone steps. It will hurl them and all of
these people into eternity and me with them. But I shall LIVE--a martyr
to the Cause. And the Cause will flourish!"

Through the