“And you’ll run no danger?”
“None that I need not.”
“And when will you be back? Ah, how long will it be!”
“When shall I be back?” I repeated.
“Yes, yes! Don’t be long, dear, don’t be long. I shan’t sleep while you’re away.”
“I don’t know when I shall be back,” said I.
“Soon, Rudolf, soon?”
“God knows, my darling. But, if never—”
“Hush, hush!” and she pressed her lips to mine.
“If never,” I whispered, “you must take my place; you’ll be the only one of the House then. You must reign, and not weep for me.”
For a moment she drew herself up like a very queen.
“Yes, I will!” she said. “I will reign. I will do my part though all my life will be empty and my heart dead; yet I’ll do it!”
She paused, and sinking against me again, wailed softly.
“Come soon! come soon!”
Carried away, I cried loudly:
“As God lives, I—yes, I myself—will see you once more before I die!”
“What do you mean?” she exclaimed, with wondering eyes; but I had no answer for her, and she gazed at me with her wondering eyes.
I dared not ask her to forget, she would have found it an insult. I could not tell her then who and what I was. She was weeping, and I had but to dry her tears.
“Shall a man not come back to the loveliest lady in all the wide world?” said I. “A thousand Michaels should not keep me from you!”
She clung to me, a little comforted.
“You won’t let Michael hurt you?”
“No, sweetheart.”
“Or keep you from me?”
“No, sweetheart.”
“Nor anyone else?”
And again I answered:
“No, sweetheart.”