For that time, at least, it
seemed as if the secret could be kept. Beyond that we could
hardly hope for success; after that we must produce the king;
dead or alive, the king must be seen. Yet it might be that before
the respite ran out Rupert would be ours. In fine, what else
could be chosen? For now a greater peril threatened than that
against which we had at the first sought to guard. Then the worst
we feared was that the letter should come to the king's hands.
That could never be. But it would be a worse thing if it were
found on Rupert, and all the kingdom, nay, all Europe, know that
it was written in the hand of her who was now, in her own right,
Queen of Ruritania. To save her from that, no chance was too
desperate, no scheme too perilous; yes, if, as Sapt said, we
ourselves were held to answer for the king's death, still we must
go on. I, through whose negligence the whole train of disaster
had been laid, was the last man to hesitate. In all honesty, I
held my life due and forfeit, should it be demanded of me--my
life and, before the world, my honor.
So the plan was made. A grave was to be dug ready for the king;
if need arose, his body should be laid in it, and the place
chosen was under the floor of the wine-cellar.
Pages:
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161
162
163
164
165
166
167
168