immed by sorrow and by fearfulness.

"Fritz," she began softly, "I am wicked--so wicked. Won't God punish me
for my gladness?"

I fear I paid little heed to her trouble, though I can understand it
well enough now.

"Gladness?" I cried in a low voice. "Then you've persuaded him?"

She smiled at me for an instant.

"I mean, you've agreed?" I stammered.

Her eyes again sought mine, and she said in a whisper: "Some day, not
now. Oh, not now. Now would be too much. But some day, Fritz, if God
will not deal too hardly with me, I--I shall be his, Fritz."

I was intent on my vision, not on hers. I wanted him king; she did not
care what he was, so that he was hers, so that he should not leave her.

"He'll take the throne," I cried triumphantly.

"No, no, no. Not the throne. He's going away."

"Going away!" I could not keep the dismay out of my voice.

"Yes, now. But not--not for ever. It will be long--oh, so long--but I
can bear it, if I know that at last!" She stopped, still looking up at
me with eyes that implored pardon and sympathy.

"I don't understand," said I, bluntly, and, I fear, gruffly, also.

"You were right," she said: "I did persuade him. He wanted to go away
again as he went before. Ought I to have let him? Yes, yes! But I
couldn't. Fritz, hadn't I done enough? You don't know what I've endured.
And I must endure more still. For he will go now, and the time will be
very long. But, at last, we shall be together. There is pity in God; we
shall be together at last."

"If he goes now, how can he come back?"

"He will not come back; I shall go to him. I shall give up the throne
and go to him, some day, when I can be spared from here, when I've done
my--my work."

I was aghast at this shattering of my vision, yet I could not be hard to
her. I said nothing, but took her hand and pressed it.

"You wanted him to be king?" she whispered.

"With all my heart, madam," said I.

"He wouldn't, Fritz. No, and I shouldn't dare to do that, either."

I fell back on the practical difficulties. "But how can he go?" I asked.

"I don't know. But he knows; he has a plan."

We fell again into silence; her eyes grew more calm, and seemed to look
forward in patient hope to the time when her happiness should come to
her. I felt like a man suddenly robbed of the exaltation of wine and
sunk to dull apathy. "I don't see how he can go," I said sullenly.

She did not answer me. A moment later the door again opened. Rudol