Charles, who had lost nothing of her actions, though he affected to be wholly absorbed in his business, looked round and down at her with much assumption of surprise.
“You are still there? You are a pertinacious maykin.”
“Sire, in the Queen’s name!” Brilliana pleaded. The King sighed.
“Well, one more concession, this is the last—the very last.” Charles prided himself on his firmness, and he struck the table as he spoke to emphasize his unalterable resolve. “If you win me his word of honor to take no more part in this war, to remain neutral till King humble Commons or Commons murder King, why, it is enough; he lives.”
Brilliana shivered at the King’s alternative. “Your Majesty cannot believe that the worst of your subjects would aim at your sacred life?”
The King’s fine eyes were more than usual melancholy, and he opened and clasped his long fingers nervously.
“I cannot choose but believe it. Their words are wild—that is trifling. But long ago, when I was young, there was a man, one Arthur Dee, a wizard and the son of a wizard, he had a magic crystal—ah, Father in heaven!”
Charles gave a groan and hid his face in his hands, Brilliana thrilled with compassion. “Your Majesty!” she cried; “your Majesty!”
Charles drew his hands away from his face. He rose, and, as he spoke, he stared fixedly before him as if he saw the sight he was describing.
“In that sphere I saw a platform hung with black. On it I seemed to see myself staring at a sea of hateful faces. One with a mask stood by my side who carried an axe. I have never forgotten it.”