The old man’s voice was raised, and his sunken eyes gleamed as he flung the charge at Cyril, who betrayed no emotion. “Let us look at this thing sensibly,” he said. “I am no more responsible than any other member of the Government for your sons’ deaths; but I don’t want to shirk what responsibility there is. Your sons, on your own showing, tried to kill me; but matters fell out the other way. It was a fair fight, and the chances were equal, except that your sons worked underground.”
“And that my sons were in the right!” shouted the father. “They were patriots and Orthodox, while you are a miserable Lutheran foreigner.”
“That is undeniable,” said Cyril; “but setting myself and your grudge against me aside, let me ask you not to lose any more time before providing a shelter for the King and Queen and their attendant. You can’t wish to wreak your vengeance on two helpless women and a child. The Queen was a young girl at home in Germany when your sons’ deaths occurred, and the King was not born until several years after. Whatever the guilt is, they cannot be involved in it.”
“They should not come to ask my help with you in their company.”
“Leave me out of the question, I tell you; only hide them.”
“Ah!” with a long cunning laugh; “shall I hide them and leave you to face your enemies?”
“By all means, if that is your condition. But pray be quick.”
“You won’t try to escape?”
“It wouldn’t be much good. Where am I to escape to?”
“You will wait here while I place them in safety, so that I may see you killed? I have dreamed of it often.”