The young prince snatched a kiss, and fled rejoicing.
Troops of the Government had already cinctured the Palace with a cordon of steel; and as the Queen waited scraps of talk came drifting up from the guarded walls, chaff of the besiegers, rallies of the besieged.
Through the dark hours fear had come to Margaret, her thought was haunted by the Master of Lyonesse, her very dreams invaded. The fear was too intangible for control, too great to fight. His presence had driven her to refuge from him on the highest tower, but even here she felt that, far above, his yacht hung on guard in the thin spaces of the air. Again and again she had fought back the tears which would come despite all her courage; but now, conscious that her face was drawn and white, and sorrow stained, and deeply lined, she found herself, woman-like, trying to be neat before the master should see her. In anger and in dread she waited for him at whose word the great world-storm had broken loose to drive her like a withered leaf whither she could not guess and dared not think. He would come with his quaint friendliness, strong and at ease, would sit upon that balustrade and swing his legs like a boy, talking of huge Powers as the counters of his game, though nations reeled under the blows he dealt and millions of men died for the words he spoke. She could hear his tread upon the stairs, could feel his rough presence as he crossed the pavement. She braced herself with an effort to face him, then turned and saw Brand as no one ever did before, haggard and ghastly, utterly broken down. He had come to her in weakness for sympathy, for comfort, and all the fierce, vindictive words which she had prepared for his confusion passed from her mind forgotten.
"It is done," he said faintly; "all done," and at the sound of his voice she shrank away in loathing. "All done,"—he sank down upon a stone seat against the balustrade—"and now the Queen may rest."
She looked across the great town southwards, and from far off came sounds of distant tumult. And then in passionate reproach she echoed—
"Rest? Stand up and see." The words came harsh from her throat. "See what you have done!"
He stood up and his slow glance went outward from sylvan parks and tree-girt palaces to long-drawn lines of bright-hued garden roofs, sky-piercing domes, and sun-gilt monuments, a valley of terraced buildings, stone-clad hills, heights overflowed, and towered heights beyond, suburbs which rivalled Babylon and Rome, and still no visible limits bounded London. Ships beat the clear air with unnumbered wings, yachts from the suburbs, aerial liners home from distant towns, and far above the grim destroyers soared. So fared the illustrious Capital of the world just at the last end of the electric age. The momentary tumult had died away.
"How quiet it is," he said, looking down to the streets; "and all the poor folk must think that the last trumpet has sounded, that this is the Day of Judgment."
"Because of your crime and mine," said the Queen, in bitterness. "Oh, why did I listen to you? Why did I attempt to save myself from the Grand Duke at such a price as this!"
"Do not be angry," he answered, resting his elbows on the balustrade. "The big clouds roll up the sky, there's lightning and thunder, a huge, tremendous roar that makes everybody frightened, the rain splashes down and smokes up, the drenched earth quivers and steams—and then we all feel much better, and the Chariot of the Sun shines high in Heaven."