“All that a doomed man can do—” Evander replied, smiling somewhat wistfully.
Brilliana shook her head vehemently and her Royalist curls danced round her bright cheeks.
“You are no doomed man unless you choose,” she asserted, hotly. Evander moved a step nearer to her.
“What do you mean?” he asked. Brilliana was panting now. He knew she had somewhat to say, and newly found it hard in the saying. She spoke.
“His Majesty the King will grant you your life.” Her words and looks told him temptingly that “your life” meant also “my life” to her.
“On what condition?”
He knew there must be a condition, knew that the condition troubled Brilliana. She answered him swiftly.
“Oh, no condition at all.” There came a catch in her voice and then she ran on:
“Or almost none. All his Majesty asks is that you refrain from taking any further part in this unhappy war.”