“There has been no need. But now the time has come. Tell them now—send them my message—to put it upon the guides. I see now something to do. I see now why I am here!”
The old man dumbly interrogated the man in yellow nodded, and hurried out.
Helen made a step towards Graham. Her face was white. “But, Sire!—How can one fight? You will be killed.”
“Perhaps. Yet, not to do it—or to let some one else attempt it—.”
“You will be killed,” she repeated.
“I’ve said my word. Do you not see? It may save—London!”
He stopped, he could speak no more, he swept the alternative aside by a gesture, and they stood looking at one another.
They were both clear that he must go. There was no step back from these towering heroisms.
Her eyes brimmed with tears. She came towards him with a curious movement of her hands, as though she felt her way and could not see; she seized his hand and kissed it.
“To wake,” she cried, “for this!”