ard against him as you. If I swear to them that what you say is true
they----"

Her hand was on his arm now, trembling, eager, yet charged with fear at
the prospect ahead of her. He clasped the little hand in his and quickly
lifted it to his lips.

"I'm happy again," he cried. "It's all right with me now." She withdrew
her hand on the instant.

"No, no! It isn't that," she said, her eyes narrowing. "Don't
misinterpret my coming here to say that I will go. It isn't because--no,
it isn't that!"

He hesitated an instant, looking deep into the bewildered eyes that met
his with all the honesty that dwelt in her soul. He saw that she trusted
him to be fair with her.

"I was unhappy because you had forsaken me," he said gently. "You are
brave--you are wonderful! But I can't take you down there. I know what
will happen if they find him guilty. Good-bye, dear one. I'll come
back--surely I'll come back. Thank you for sending me away happy."

"Won't you let me go with you?" she asked, after a long, penetrating
look into his eyes.

"I would not take you among them for all the world. You forget. Neither
of us would come back."

"Neither of us?" she said slowly.

"I wouldn't come back without you," he said quietly, earnestly. She
understood. "Good-bye! Don't worry about me. I am in no danger."

"Good-bye," she said, the princess once more. "I shall pray for
you--with all my soul." She gave him her hand. It was cold and lifeless.
He pressed it warmly and went quickly away, leaving her standing there
in the still shade of the satinwoods, looking after him with eyes that
grew wider and wider with the tears that welled up from behind.

Hours went by--slow, tortuous hours in which the souls of those who
watched and waited for his return were tried to the utmost. A restless,
uncanny feeling prevailed: as if they were prisoners waiting in dead
silence for the sickening news that the trap on the scaffold had been
dropped with all that was living of a fellow-cellmate, whom they had
known and pitied for weeks.

Once there came to the ears of the watchers on the mountainside the
sound of distant shouts, later, the brief rattle of firearms. The blood
of every one turned cold with, apprehension; every voice was stilled,
every eye wide with dread. Neenah screamed as she fled across the
terrace toward the drawbridge, where Selim stood as motionless as a
statue.

Luncheon-time passed, and again, as if drawn by a magnet, the entire