etle, when it struck him he
heard voices in altercation outside his door. One, clear, ringing, and
imperious, yet withal feminine, was certainly not heard for the first
time; and the subdued and respectful voices that answered, were those of
his guards.

After a moment, he heard the sound of the withdrawing bolts, and his
heart beat fast. Surely, his half-hour had not already expired; and
if it had, would she be the person to conduct him to death? The door
opened; a puff of wind extinguished his candle, but not until he had
caught the glimmer of jewels, the shining of gold, and the flutter of
long, black hair; and then some one came in. The door was closed; the
bolts shot back!--and he was alone with Miranda, the queen.

There was no trouble about recognising her, for she carried in her hand
a small lamp, which she held up between them, that its rays might fall
directly on both faces. Each was rather white, perhaps, and one
heart was going faster than it had ever gone before, and that one was
decidedly not the queen's. She was dressed exactly as he had seen her,
in purple and ermine, in jewels and gold; and strangely out of place she
looked there, in her splendid dress and splendid beauty, among the black
beetles and rats. Her face might have been a dead, blank wall, or cut
out of cold, white stone, for all it expressed; and as she lightly held
up her rich robes in one hand, and in the other bore the light, the
dark, shining eyes were fixed on his face, and were as barren of
interest, eagerness, compassion, tenderness, or any other feeling, as
the shining, black glass ones of a wax doll. So they stood looking at
each other for some ten seconds or so, and then, still looking full at
him, Miranda spoke, and her voice was as clear and emotionless as her
eyes,

"Well, Sir Norman Kingsley, I have come to see you before you die."

"Madame," he stammered, scarcely knowing what he said, "you are kind."

"Am I? Perhaps you forget I signed your death-warrant."

"Probably it would have been at the risk of your own life to refuse?"

"Nothing of the kind! Not one of them would hurt a hair of my head if I
refused to sign fifty death-warrants! Now, am I kind?"

"Very likely it would have amounted to the same thing in the end--they
would kill me whether you signed it or not; so what does it matter?"

"You are mistaken! They would not kill you; at least, not tonight, if
I had not signed it. They would have let you live until th