darling, how hot
your head is!"

Somehow love gives even to a dull man the knowledge of his lover's
heart. I had come to humble myself and pray pardon for my presumption;
but what I said now was:

"I love you with all my heart and soul!"

For what troubled and shamed her? Not her love for me, but the fear that
I had counterfeited the lover as I had acted the King, and taken her
kisses with a smothered smile.

"With all my life and heart," said I, as she clung to me. "Always, from
the first moment I saw you in the Cathedral! There has been but one
woman in the world to me--and there will be no other. But God forgive me
the wrong I've done you!"

"They made you do it!" she said quickly; and she added, raising her head
and looking in my eyes: "It might have made no difference if I'd known
it. It was always you, never the King!"

"I meant to tell you," said I. "I was going to on the night of the
ball in Strelsau, when Sapt interrupted me. After that, I couldn't--I
couldn't risk losing you before--before--I must! My darling, for you I
nearly left the King to die!"

"I know, I know! What are we to do now, Rudolf?"

I put my arm round her and held her up while I said:

"I am going away tonight."

"Ah, no, no!" she cried. "Not tonight!"

"I must go tonight, before more people have seen me. And how would you
have me stay, sweetheart, except--?"

"If I could come with you!" she whispered very low.

"My God!" said I roughly, "don't talk about that!" and I thrust her a
little back from me.

"Why not? I love you. You are as good a gentleman as the King!"

Then I was false to all that I should have held by. For I caught her in
my arms and prayed her, in words that I will not write, to come with me,
daring all Ruritania to take her from me. And for a while she listened,
with wondering, dazzled eyes. But as her eyes looked on me, I grew
ashamed, and my voice died away in broken murmurs and stammerings, and
at last I was silent.

She drew herself away from me and stood against the wall, while I sat
on the edge of the sofa, trembling in every limb, knowing what I had
done--loathing it, obstinate not to undo it. So we rested a long time.

"I am mad!" I said sullenly.

"I love your madness, dear," she answered.

Her face was away from me, but I caught the sparkle of a tear on her
cheek. I clutched the sofa with my hand and held myself there.

"Is love the only thing?" she asked, in low, sweet tones that seemed
t