"It ought not to, of course," he said with wrinkled brow. "I ought to want all or nothing. But I would be content if it were even less you gave, for in the dim light of this ancient chamber I seem to see the workings of Fate."
"Then you are willing on such a basis to go on with the ceremony?"
"If you are content to do so," he returned gravely, "knowing that Karl is alive and may prevail, and that in that event no Parliament will trouble to undo what the good priest does this afternoon."
Gloria looked him frankly in the face.
"I, too, believe in Fate," she said softly, after a pause; and then, slipping her arm into his, "Father Ambrose, you have been summoned here for a purpose. Fulfil that purpose."
CHAPTER TWENTY
BERNHARDT DISTURBED
While the woman whom he had helped to a throne was being secretly married to George Trafford, Father Bernhardt was sitting alone in his private apartments in the Neptunburg. The room he had chosen for his use was a small chamber on the second floor, overlooking the courtyard. The blinds were drawn, the electric light was burning, and the ex-priest was seated in a comfortable arm-chair reading the poems of Paul Verlaine. At his side were a wine-glass and a big carafe containing a pale green viscous fluid. He seemed to be enjoying his relaxation, for a smile constantly flitted across his face, and as some mordant line appealed more especially to his grim humour he would repeat it several times out loud in manifest appreciation. From time to time he sipped the fluid at his elbow, and it was remarkable that each time he did so he cast a quick look behind him as if fully expecting to see someone.
A rap at the door brought a slight frown to his brow, and the knock had to be repeated before he gave the necessary permission to enter. The intruder was Von Hügelweiler.
"Well, what is it, Captain?" asked Bernhardt impatiently.