er eyes.

"I must call for help," she cried.

The old woman seemed to spring to sudden life. She jumped up and caught
her daughter by the shoulder.

"No, no," she whispered in quick accents. "You--you don't know. Let them
alone, you fool! It's not our business. Let them alone."

"Let me go, mother, let me go! Mother, I must help the king!"

"I'll not let you go," said Mother Holf.

But Rosa was young and strong; her heart was fired with terror for the
king's danger.

"I must go," she cried; and she flung her mother's grasp off from her
so that the old woman was thrown back into her chair, and the spoon fell
from her hand and clattered on the tiles. But Rosa turned and fled
down the passage and through the shop. The bolts delayed her trembling
fingers for an instant. Then she flung the door wide. A new amazement
filled her eyes at the sight of the eager crowd before the house.
Then her eyes fell on me where I stood between the lieutenant and
Rischenheim, and she uttered her wild cry, "Help! The king!"

With one bound I was by her side and in the house, while Bernenstein
cried, "Quicker!" from behind.

CHAPTER XVIII. THE TRIUMPH OF THE KING

THE things that men call presages, presentiments, and so forth, are,
to my mind, for the most part idle nothings: sometimes it is only that
probable events cast before them a natural shadow which superstitious
fancy twists into a Heaven sent warning; oftener the same desire that
gives conception works fulfilment, and the dreamer sees in the result
of his own act and will a mysterious accomplishment independent of his
effort. Yet when I observe thus calmly and with good sense on the matter
to the Constable of Zenda, he shakes his head and answers, "But Rudolf
Rassendyll knew from the first that he would come again to Strelsau and
engage young Rupert point to point. Else why did he practise with the
foils so as to be a better swordsman the second time than he was
the first? Mayn't God do anything that Fritz von Tarlenheim can't
understand? a pretty notion, on my life!" And he goes off grumbling.

Well, be it inspiration, or be it delusion--and the difference stands
often on a hair's breadth--I am glad that Rudolf had it. For if a man
once grows rusty, it is everything short of impossible to put the fine
polish on his skill again. Mr. Rassendyll had strength, will, coolness,
and, of course, courage. None would have availed had not his eye been in
perfect familiarity with