"Or are you crying, Browne?"
The man threw himself suddenly at her feet and there lay until the dawn light found our Lady's face.
"If it were all to do again," she said; "and I knew what must come, seeing the future clearer than the past, and judging as God judges even to the end of Destiny—I wonder—should I have let my country be betrayed? Vassalage to Russia! No, I think not. Ulster betrayed me, and in that treason was the seed of all. Now we must reap where Ulster sowed the seed. I could not keep back the harvest, nor can we stop the sun from rising. It is not the rising of the sun which gives the signal to the Russian Fleet. The sun stands still in heaven—it is the earth that sets—man's world going down into this vassalage, into this Russian night.
"They wanted me to surrender, to lay down my arms, my crown, my kingdom, my religion; my Ministers and my Generals, all with one voice begged me to save my people, by surrender. They asked me to make my people subjects of Russia—they called that serving my people! I would rather they died free, and took their freedom into the life to come, going to their Master rich with honour—and not afterwards beggarly, and ashamed, whining like slaves.
"There is the Siberian Fleet," Margaret was gazing upwards at the vast line of battle in the eastern sky. "When the sun reddens their wings, they will destroy my fortresses, murder my people, make the Thames run blood. My place is with my people—I am their Queen, and still I shall labour for them, pray for them in that other world, leading my spirit people, my free people. Then I shall leave no children on this earth borne of my shame, descended from British Kings to be vassals of Russia.
"But, oh, if only my people might be saved! Stand up again! Stand up—the sun is reddening the Russian Fleet. Stand up—look to the west—there must be ships in the west—his ships from Lyonesse! No ships! Still no ships! Let us go down and take our horses out; I shall die with my Guard to-day! I shall ride with my Guard, Beyond!"
* * * * *
"Fours right! Left wheel—by y'r left, march! Carry ar-r-r-ms!"
The old avenue lay ahead of us, the Mall, and as we rode out slowly past the Victoria Monument, our Lady looked back, once, lifting her hand in farewell—perhaps to Miss Temple on some balcony. Our wounded were with us, all who could keep the saddle, and Lancaster, still very weak, carried the Guidon of the Regiment. The early sunlight, dappled through green leaves, caught gold and scarlet, silver and blazonry; our horses played like great babies because of the dewy freshness in the air; and so we broke to a trot, every man with his eyes set straight to the front, his hand gently on the curb, his thoughts—so far away!
All round the white horizon, guns of position thundered, shells burst, and spluttering rifles kept up the long monotony of battle, white dust went up, and rolling smoke, flame, and the souls of men.