"GOD SAVE THE KING!"
Kate gave a terrible cry as the words fell from my lips, and snatching
away the hand which I had been holding, staggered, white and faint, to
the sofa.
"Don't turn from me, darling," I said, kneeling beside her. "No one
who fears God and honours his King, who loves his country, could
have acted other than I did. The man meant well, meant nobly, I
believe, originally, and his passion and devotion to the cause of the
poor I shall remember with reverence to the end of my life. But his
well-meaning had passed into mania, so that he had become, as you know,
a relentless and wholesale murderer, whose very existence was a menace
to the nation. I struck because I was compelled, and in self-defence. I
had no option, for his intention at the moment was to murder me. Had I
spared him, he would either have died at the hangman's hands, or, more
horrible still, have dragged out his remaining years in a madhouse.
You are a woman, darling; not a girl any longer--a brave woman, a true
woman, and must see that, terrible as it was and is, I should have been
a traitor to my King and country had I failed to act as I did, for, mad
for blood as the man was, he might--would, I believe, within the next
few minutes--have murdered the King himself."
"It is horrible!" she said, shuddering. "Horrible! But I will be brave,
dear, and I do see, horrible as it is, that you are right. Is he dead?"
"He is dead," I replied.
Again she buried her face in her hands and sank back sobbing. But soon
the sobs became less frequent, and at last she was composed enough to
motion to me with her hand to finish the story.
"And what happened then?" interposed Miss Clara.
"Then," I went on, "I took the keys out of the dead man's pocket, and
arraying myself in the Napoleon cloak, the huge collar of which I drew
up to my ears, and clapping the hat on my head, well down over my
eyes, I made my way to the front door. The man in charge was still at
his post, and looked up for a moment on hearing me turn the key in
the lock, but seeing the hat and cloak of his leader, did not trouble
himself to look again. Making a show of locking the door, I turned, and
with my head sunk on my chest, my legs straddled apart in imitation of
the Dumpling, and my hand--the right--holding the dagger behind me, I
walked slowly towards him. He slipped the paper he had been reading
into his pocket, and rose, as if to open the door for me, but, before
shooting back the bolt, he turned, and raising his hand soldier-wise in
salute, said:
"Shall I send word, sir, that----"
"He stopped short with a sudden gasp of surprise, realising, as his
eyes fell upon me, that something was wrong; but, before he could utter
a word or raise a hand, my dagger was in his heart."
Again Kate reeled, as if about to faint.
"More blood on your hands! Another life taken! The first, perhaps,
_had_ to be, but this man had done no direct harm, this man----"
"Kate," I interrupted her sternly, "this, too, as you put it, '_had_ to
be.' The issues at stake were too tremendous to justify me in running
any risk. And this man was an English-speaking foreign mercenary,
whom I, with my own eyes, saw deliberately murder two policemen and a
soldier in cold blood and without mercy."
"And the King?" she gasped, white to the lips.
"The King," I said, "is safe. I stayed only to put the body out of
sight, and to cover up the traces of the tragedy, before going back to
set him free. The rising is over. It is the King himself who has given
it its death-blow. When the contingent of rioters, who had succeeded
in passing the barriers, reached Buckingham Palace, the King declared
his intention of going out himself to meet them. Notwithstanding the
Queen's tears, the Prince's entreaties, his Ministers' prayers, he
refused to be turned from his purpose.
"'I am not afraid of my people,' he said unconcernedly, 'and I do not
think my people will harm me.'
"Walking to a window on the ground floor, he threw it up, and standing
upon a chair in sight of all, spoke to the crowd.
"'My friends!' he said. 'My people, whom I have loved, and who have
never yet before failed in love to me, you have been misled by a
madman and a murderer, who is now dead. The uproar began with him, and
with his death it will assuredly end. Your leaders, those who have
planned and carried out this treason and this devilry, and those who
have shed blood, must answer to the law for what they have done, and
must answer, it may be, with their lives.
"'But for you, my people, who have been blinded, duped, and misled
by the dead arch-traitor who called himself the Dumpling, to you, my
people, if you now disperse and go to your homes, free pardon and
forgiveness shall be extended. It is your King who says it, and your
King's word is enough.
"'And now, listen. I am not afraid of my people, and I do not think
there is one sane man among my people who would harm me. See, I come
out to you of my own accord, unescorted, unattended, and unarmed.'
"Stepping upon the window-sill, he said, laughingly:
"'I am not so young or as light-footed as I used to be. Will one of you
lend me a hand?'
"A hundred hands were extended, and then, hatless as he was, he leapt
down into the courtyard among his subjects, as much at home and with as
little fear as if he were among a crowd of sightseers on a race-course
or at a review.
"At the words and at the action, there arose such a cheer as London has
never heard before, and though some traitors there were, who murmured
among themselves, and looked at him darkly, not one of them dared raise
hand against the Sovereign, knowing that to do so would be the signal
for the people to tear the traitor limb from limb.
"The rebellion is over, Kate. The King himself, as I have said, gave it
the death-blow. Before I left the Palace, the people had thrown down
their arms to a man, and all London is ringing on every hand with the
cry 'God save the King!'"
"Thank God!" she said, "for the King's sake and the people's. But hush,
Max! What is that shouting in the street? It is coming nearer. Pray God
the rioting has not broken out again."
"I have no fear of that," I said. "But come, dear, let us see."
Together we walked to the window. The shouting and cheering in the
street were terrific, but this was no disloyal mob--these were no
revolutionaries. They were cheering a gentleman who, unattended, and
without escort, was riding slowly by in an open carriage.
"It is the King!" Kate gasped.
"Yes," I said. "It is the kingliest ruler, the bravest man, the truest
gentleman in Christendom!"
And raising the window, she and I stepped out hand in hand upon the
balcony, to join in the jubilation and welcome that rose from a
thousand throats in a roar louder than the roar of the central seas.
"The King! God bless him!"
"The King! The King! The King!"
"God save the King!"