uld be done, not
whether it could; our appeals were not to brace a failing courage, but
cajole a sturdy sense of honor which found the imposture distasteful
so soon as it seemed to serve a personal end. To serve the king he had
played the king in old days, but he did not love to play the king when
the profit of it was to be his own. Hence he was unmoved till his care
for the fair fame of the queen and the love of his friends joined to
buffet his resolution.

Then he faltered; but he had not fallen. Yet Colonel Sapt did all as
though he had given his assent, and watched the last hours in which
his flight from Strelsau was possible go quickly by with more than
equanimity. Why hurry Rudolf's resolve? Every moment shut him closer in
the trap of an inevitable choice. With every hour that he was called the
king, it became more impossible for him to bear any other name all his
days. Therefore Sapt let Mr. Rassendyll doubt and struggle, while he
himself wrote his story and laid his long-headed plans. And now and then
James, the little servant, came in and went out, sedate and smug, but
with a quiet satisfaction gleaming in his eyes. He had made a story for
a pastime, and it was being translated into history. He at least would
bear his part in it unflinchingly.

Before now the queen had left us, persuaded to lie down and try to rest
till the matter should be settled. Stilled by Rudolf's gentle rebuke,
she had urged him no more in words, but there was an entreaty in her
eyes stronger than any spoken prayer, and a piteousness in the lingering
of her hand in his harder to resist than ten thousand sad petitions.
At last he had led her from the room and commended her to Helga's care.
Then, returning to us, he stood silent a little while. We also were
silent, Sapt sitting and looking up at him with his brows knit and his
teeth restlessly chewing the moustache on his lip.

"Well, lad?" he said at last, briefly putting the great question. Rudolf
walked to the window and seemed to lose himself for a moment in
the contemplation of the quiet night. There were no more than a few
stragglers in the street now; the moon shone white and clear on the
empty square.

"I should like to walk up and down outside and think it over," he said,
turning to us; and, as Bernenstein sprang up to accompany him, he added,
"No. Alone."

"Yes, do," said old Sapt, with a glance at the clock, whose hands were
now hard on two o'clock. "Take your time, lad, ta