Those were the gentlest, truest words that I had heard throughout that awful day, and so there is no shame in saying that I could not answer her. Instead I drew her close, and for a moment there was silence in that little room. The setting sun shone in upon us; and, for a time at least, I knew what power a woman has to save man from himself.
This is no tale of love, nor, if it were, would this be any place in which to prate of it; but yet I should be something of a thankless coward were I not to state that Miriam Hope was very dear to me. We had been friends from childhood, and looking backward through the long, long years I know how much I owe to her. And speaking of that night, she saved me from I know not what mad act.
"And how came you here?" she asked, when we had talked a while of other things.
"By the side door yonder," I replied.
"Ah, verily," sighed she, "the front is crowded like a fair. The fearful din hath made my head ache sorely. How, think you, Michael, will this sorry business end?"
"I fear in hanging for the most part, Miriam," was my answer.
"Ah, that is what my father says. 'Tis terrible to think of."
"And so the Duke is in the Great Room yonder?"
"Yes, and a very gracious, kindly gentleman he seems. His smile is very sweet. Aye, 'tis a thousand pities that he ever landed on so wild a business."
"Yes, ten thousand pities," I agreed, though not because I thought of Monmouth's peril.