Margaret stirred in her sleep, and with a tremulous sigh wakened.
Her fingers touched cool, white linen, creased still where the folds
had been, faintly scented from sprays of lavender. She saw one ray
of sunlight level through soft gloom, and golden motes danced therein
like fairies. Above swung rose-silk curtains swaying ever so gently
to a ship's motion, and wonder dawned in her eyes.
Her armour was gone, her dripping sword, the air of flame, the sea of
blood, the roar of battle--all gone like a bad dream. She reached
out her right hand, and thrust it softly, quivering at the touch,
against a man's rough hair.
The man was kneeling by the bed, his face buried in the white
coverlet, his dark hair streaked with silver, and his great, strong
arms stretched out as though to guard her even in her dreams. Of
dull stained gold, was his rough shirt of mail, torn, ragged, bloody;
then he lifted his head and she saw the grave majesty of his face.
Again her hand went out groping until her uncertain fingers touched
him--and he was real!
"The everlasting life," she whispered.
And he answered: "It is everlasting Love." And then the passion
leapt into his eyes. "Love me," he cried. "Love me! Love me,
Margaret!"
She thrust the palm of her hand against his mouth.
"Afterwards--but this is the Earth, and so I've got to die. Oh save
me, Brand," she cried. "I can't die, now! I can't die! How can I
die now! And yet--must I not lead my people on the Other Side, ride
with my Guard yonder?" Her head fell wearily, and her eyes closed.
"It is all well--you were true to me."
He clutched her hand and kissed it passionately. "Margaret!
Margaret! You shall not die!"
"The Palace rocks," she muttered, "like a ship. It was only a little
wound, but my neck throbs, and with the daybreak--will it hurt much,
Brand, will it be worse than a wound, this death?"
"Margaret, you live, England is saved! Don't you hear, Margaret,
can't you understand, I have destroyed the Russian Fleet, I have
swept away the armies, delivered London, crushed the League! Oh,
love me a little, Margaret, just a little. I have waited so long,
and fought so hard for love."
"Give me some wine--I can't understand all at once. Give me a little
wine."
He brought a glass of wine, and she, sitting up in bed, made him
share with her. The level sun rays shining on her face welcomed a
delicate flush of her returning strength, and made her hair an
aureole of glory. Then, looking full into the light--
"I never thought," said Margaret, reverently, "that I should see the
sunset."
"It is the sunrise," he answered.
"The sunrise?"
"Yes."
"Where are we? Not in my Palace?"
"The Palace was burned yesterday. This is your Majesty's flagship,
the _Coronation_," Brand crossed to the open port, and, looking out,
"There, is the Strait of Dover," he said, "and the sun has just
risen, turning the North Sea into a field of silver. Above there are
little clouds like petals of roses, and all round us the seagulls.
Cannot you hear them, Margaret?"
"Where is the Siberian Fleet?"
"I have destroyed the Siberian Fleet. The Russian Emperor lay dead
at your Majesty's feet, and the officers of his General Staff are
prisoners in this ship. The Russian Army has surrendered."
"And the French Army, and the German?"
"Surrendered as prisoners of war. I have blown up all their
magazines, their ammunition trains to the last cartridge. Their
commanders-in-chief are prisoners on board the _Virgin_."
"And my people are saved!"
Brand came to the bedside, and there kneeling down, kissed our Lady's
hand.
"Oh, love me," he whispered, "just a little!"
"And you are alive!" The blood raced in her veins, her heart was
crying out for him. "I saw you in a little ship all alone, dying, I
thought; and underneath there were rivers and lakes, and forests
streaming by."
"You saw me, then?"
"In a dream, yes."
"Only love dreams like that. You love me, Margaret."
"I love my country, you were the one hope left, and I saw you dying.
Tell me how you come to be alive."
"Rivers, and lakes, and forest," answered Brand. "You did not see
the mountains, then? Great, big mountains came up against the west,
higher and higher, alp piled on alp, precipice on precipice, mile on
mile of ice barring the ship's way. They were the Alps of St. Elias.
Oh, Margaret--say you love me before I go on."
"What did you do when the ship came to the mountains?"
"She was running right at them, a hundred miles an hour, I couldn't
stir hand or foot, and I was being whirled helpless against an
enormous cliff."