"My daughter, you must not be here. Come away!"
She looked at him for an instant in hesitation; and then, bowing her head, responded in scarcely audible voice:
"I will obey you, Sire," and added, speaking to herself—
"It is his will too."
"I know your grief," said his majesty kindly, "and now, as your Emperor, I must protect you against yourself."
"I want no protection," cried the broken-hearted girl. "Oh, let me die! For what should I live?"
"My dear child," said the Emperor with trembling voice, while the tears filled his eyes. "In other days your holy faith taught me how to be strong. Now, in your necessity, let me repeat to you the lesson. For what shall you live? For what should I live? I am Emperor, but my empire is doomed. I live no longer for earthly hope, but solely to do duty; nothing but duty, stern duty, painful every instant, crushing always, but a burden heaven imposed on a breaking heart. That heaven appoints it—that, and that alone—makes me willing to live and do it. When the time comes I shall seek death where the slain lie the thickest. But not to-day; for to-day I can serve. Live for duty! Live for God! The days may not be many before we shall clasp hands with those who, now invisible, are looking upon us. Let us go and cheer the living before we seek the companionship of the dead."
As the Emperor spoke, his face glowed with a majesty of soul which made the symbol of earthly majesty that adorned his brow seem poor indeed.
Gazing a moment with reverent amazement at the man who had already received the divine anointing for the sacrifice of martyrdom he was so soon to offer, Morsinia responded: