We three were
together in the first rank of the crowd when the door of the
house was flung open, and a girl ran out. Her hair was
disordered, her face pale, and her eyes full of alarm. There she
stood on the doorstep, facing the crowd, which in an instant grew
as if by magic to three times its former size, and, little
knowing what she did, she cried in the eager accents of sheer
terror:
"Help, help! The king! The king!"
CHAPTER XVII. YOUNG RUPERT AND THE PLAY-ACTOR
There rises often before my mind the picture of young Rupert,
standing where Rischenheim left him, awaiting the return of his
messenger and watching for some sign that should declare to
Strelsau the death of its king which his own hand had wrought.
His image is one that memory holds clear and distinct, though
time may blur the shape of greater and better men, and the
position in which he was that morning gives play enough to the
imagination. Save for Rischenheim, a broken reed, and Bauer, who
was gone, none knew where, he stood alone against a kingdom which
he had robbed of its head, and a band of resolute men who would
know no rest and no security so long as he lived. For protection
he had only a quick brain, his courage, and his secret.
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