in achieving these triumphs were to be
fired off at the same moment; if, in addition to this, every horn that
had been blown, every dog which had barked, and every creature that had
cheered, were to find voice, the din thus produced could not be more
confusing or bewildering than the thoughts which jostled each other in
the head that now rested upon the king's hands.

He arose from his seat and read some of the inscriptions on the wall.
He could boast of a mighty ancestry. They were of a lusty and powerful
race, and while indulging in the pleasures of the chase and the social
board, would speedily have forgotten an adventure like the one that now
unnerved him.

Have we become weaker, pettier, more timid?

The king seated himself again and gazed at the fire. He was angry with
himself, and yet could not master his weakness.

We are not like the men of the olden time, with their rude simplicity
and fearless disregard of consequences. Why have we not inherited the
strength of our ancestors, instead of mere pride in their power?

What has happened?

Unfaithfulness cannot be blotted out, nor can the dead be called back
to life.

The memory of the days passed in intoxicating happiness rose up before
him, as if to say: It dare not, it cannot be.

Has she a right, while destroying her life, to destroy mine, too? And
she has destroyed it. Her death will ever remain an inseparable part of
myself. I bear a corpse about with me. The guilt of murder dwells
within my heart!

He suddenly held his hands before the fire, for they were cold. The
flames burned brightly, but they did not warm his hands, and his heart
seemed freezing.

Is Bronnen right in refusing to see anything in this terrible affair
but the inevitable results of my actions?

He uttered a short laugh, for it had suddenly occurred to him that the
world would present a wondrous chaos of bloodshed and murder, if every
similar misstep were to produce like result. How many thousands--

A few words uttered on a lovely morning and during happy times, floated
through his mind. It was like suddenly recollecting a long forgotten
melody. It was scarcely more than a year ago, that the queen had said,
while sitting under the weeping ash: "He who commits a wrong sins for
himself, and as deeply as if it were the first time the sin were ever
committed."

Ah! why is it that our actions fall so far short of our ideal?

The king was still gazing into the fire. The image o