"I was unhappy because you had forsaken me," he said gently. "You are brave—you are wonderful! But I can't take you down there. I know what will happen if they find him guilty. Good-bye, dear one. I'll come back—surely I'll come back. Thank you for sending me away happy."
"Won't you let me go with you?" she asked, after a long, penetrating look into his eyes.
"I would not take you among them for all the world. You forget. Neither of us would come back."
"Neither of us?" she said slowly.
"I wouldn't come back without you," he said quietly, earnestly. She understood. "Good-bye! Don't worry about me. I am in no danger."
"Good-bye," she said, the princess once more. "I shall pray for you—with all my soul." She gave him her hand. It was cold and lifeless. He pressed it warmly and went quickly away, leaving her standing there in the still shade of the satinwoods, looking after him with eyes that grew wider and wider with the tears that welled up from behind.
Hours went by—slow, tortuous hours in which the souls of those who watched and waited for his return were tried to the utmost. A restless, uncanny feeling prevailed: as if they were prisoners waiting in dead silence for the sickening news that the trap on the scaffold had been dropped with all that was living of a fellow-cellmate, whom they had known and pitied for weeks.
Once there came to the ears of the watchers on the mountainside the sound of distant shouts, later, the brief rattle of firearms. The blood of every one turned cold with, apprehension; every voice was stilled, every eye wide with dread. Neenah screamed as she fled across the terrace toward the drawbridge, where Selim stood as motionless as a statue.
Luncheon-time passed, and again, as if drawn by a magnet, the entire household made its way to the front of the château.
At last Selim uttered a shout of joy. He forgot the deference due his betters and unceremoniously dashed off toward the gates, followed by Neenah, who seemed possessed of wings.