and one of them crossed into her view. She knew the tall figure and she saw the red hair: it was the King. Backward step by step he seemed to be driven, coming nearer and nearer to the door. At last there was no more than a foot between him and her; only the crazy panel prevented her putting out her hand to touch him. Again the voice of Rupert rang out in rich exultation:
"I have you now! Say your prayers, King Rudolf!"
"Say your prayers!" Then they fought. It was earnest, not play. And it was the King—her King—her dear King, who was in great peril of his life! For an instant she knelt, still watching. Then with a low cry of terror she turned and ran headlong down the steep stairs. Her mind could not tell what to do, but her heart cried out that she must do something for her King. Reaching the ground floor, she ran with wide-open eyes into the kitchen. The stew was on the hob; the old woman still held the spoon, but she had ceased to stir and fallen into a chair.
"He's killing the King! He's killing the King!" cried Rosa, seizing her mother by the arm. "Mother, what shall we do? He's killing the King!"
The old woman looked up with dull eyes and a stupid cunning smile.
