f Helen Mowbray had accepted the position he offered her,
he could never have broken her heart by making another marriage.

Not only would it be difficult in these days to find a Princess
willing to tolerate such a rival, but it would have been impossible
for him to desecrate the bond between himself and the one adored
woman.

This being the case, with Helen Mowbray as his morganatic wife, there
could be no direct heir to the throne. At his death, the son of his
uncle, the Archduke Joseph, would succeed; and during his life the
popularity which was dear to him would be hopelessly forfeited.
Rhaetia would never forgive him for selfishly preferring his own
private happiness to the good of the nation.

He could fancy how old Iron Heart von Breitstein would present this
point of view to him, with fierce eloquence, temples throbbing like
the ticking of a watch, eyes netted with bloodshot veins. But on the
other hand he could picture himself standing calmly to face the storm,
steadfast in his own indomitable will, happy with love to uphold him.

But now, the will which had borne him through life in a triumphal
march, had been powerless against that of this young girl. She would
have none of him. A woman whose face was her fortune, whose place in
life was hardly as high as the first step of a throne, had refused--an
Emperor.

Hardly could Leopold believe the thing that had happened to him. He
had spoken of doubting that he had won her love; and he had doubted.
But he had allowed himself to hope, because he had confidence in his
Star, and because, perhaps, it had scarcely been known in the annals
of history that an Emperor's suit should be repulsed.

Besides, he had loved the girl so passionately, that it seemed she
could not remain cold. And he hoped still that, when she had passed a
long night in reflection, in thinking over the situation, perhaps
taking counsel with that comparatively commonplace yet practical
little lady, her mother, she might be ready to change her mind.

For the first few moments after the stinging rebuff he had endured,
Leopold felt that, if she did, it would be her turn to suffer, for he
could never humble himself to implore for the second time. But, as he
stood in the soft stillness of the night, gazing towards the lights of
the house, thoughts of Virginia--her youth, her sweetness, her beauty
dimmed with grief,--overwhelmed him. Could he have reached her, he
would have fallen on his knees, and