Evander turned to Brilliana with question in his eyes; Brilliana advanced towards Evander with question on her lips.

“Are you very sure you love me?” she queried. Evander made to take her in his arms, but she stayed him with a lifted hand of warning.

“Sure,” he answered, fervently, and surety shone in his eyes.

Brilliana leaned against the table at which the King had sat and faced him gravely.

“More than life, more than all things in the wide world?”

Evander’s answer came as flash to flint.

“More than life; more than all things in this wide world—” there was a momentary fall in his voice; then he added, “save honor.”

A little sudden fear pricked at Brilliana’s heart, but she tried to deny it with a little, teasing laugh.

“Oh, that wonderful word ‘honor,’” she mocked. “I thought we should pull that out of the sack sooner or later.”

Evander watched her with surprise. “What is coming next?” he wondered. He began to fear as he answered, simply:

“You would not have me neglect honor?”

Brilliana’s face was set steadfastly towards him; Brilliana’s eyes were very bright; Brilliana’s cheeks were as red as the late October roses.

“Here is what I would have you do,” she said, breathlessly, and then paused—paused so long that Evander, watching and waiting, prompted her with a questioning “Well?”

Brilliana still seemed to hesitate. That word “honor” had frightened her for Evander, had frightened her for herself. She now groped uncertain, who thought to tread so surely.

“Will you do as I wish if I tell you?” she asked, trying to mask anxiety with a jesting manner. And when Evander responded gravely, “If I can,” she pressed him impetuously again.

“Nay, now, make me a square promise.” She looked very fair as she pleaded.

“All that a doomed man can do—” Evander replied, smiling somewhat wistfully.

Brilliana shook her head vehemently and her Royalist curls danced round her bright cheeks.

“You are no doomed man unless you choose,” she asserted, hotly. Evander moved a step nearer to her.

“What do you mean?” he asked. Brilliana was panting now. He knew she had somewhat to say, and newly found it hard in the saying. She spoke.

“His Majesty the King will grant you your life.” Her words and looks told him temptingly that “your life” meant also “my life” to her.

“On what condition?”

He knew there must be a condition, knew that the condition troubled Brilliana. She answered him swiftly.

“Oh, no condition at all.” There came a catch in her voice and then she ran on:

“Or almost none. All his Majesty asks is that you refrain from taking any further part in this unhappy war.”

She paused and eyed him. Evander’s face was unchanged.

“No more than that?” he commented, so quietly that, reassured, she rippled on, volubly:

“No more than that. We can be wed, dear love. We can go away together to France, Italy, where you please. I have always had a mind to see Italy. And when England is quiet again we can come home, come here and be happy.”

She felt as if she were flinging herself at his feet, shamelessly offering herself, to tempt him, to dazzle him, conquer him that way; to witch his promise out of him before he had time to think. Yet for all her vehemence there was a chill at her heart and a cloud seemed to hover over her sunny words. Unwillingly she looked away from him, but she held out her hands in appeal.

“Hush, Brilliana!”

The grave, sweet voice sounded on her ears as the knell of hope. But she faced him again with a useless, questioning glance.

“Why talk of what cannot be?” Evander asked, sadly.

Brilliana denied him feverishly.

“What can be—what must be!” she cried. “The King has promised.”

“I am a soldier of the Parliament,” Evander asserted. “I cannot abandon my cause.”

Brilliana almost screamed at him in her anger and despair.

“You are a prisoner under sentence of death. If you die, what gain has the Parliament of you, and I must live a widowed woman.” She was close to him now and very suddenly she flung her arms about him, clasping him to her, her eager face close to his.

“Promise,” she panted; “promise, dear love, promise. Your Parliament loses nothing, you gain your life, my love. Promise, promise!”

Evander’s flesh fought with his spirit, but his face was calm and the arms that yearned to enfold his lover lay by his side. He turned his face away lest he should kiss her on the mouth, and, kissing, surrender his soul.

“I cannot,” he said, as if from a great silence. He would not see the passionate, beautiful face; he sought to fix his mind upon the faces of those whose faithful soldier he was sworn. The girl unloosed her arms and swayed away from him, wild anger in her eyes.

“Do you call this true love,” she sneered, “that is so scrupulous?”

“The truest love in the world,” Evander answered, looking full at her. He could look at her now; he had no fear to fall. He was losing a joy beyond all thought, but at least he would die with a white soul.

“Do you think it is nothing to me to die thus losing you? But you have served soldier; you have a soldier’s spirit; you would not have me do other than I am doing. You do not understand my cause, to think it should be easy to persuade me from it. But if I were of the King’s party and in such peril so tempted, would you wish me to abandon my royal master to win life or love?”

Brilliana’s cheeks flamed a furious scarlet; then the fierce blood ebbed and left her face very pale, but her eyes were shining very bright. She steadied herself against the table and tried to speak with a steady voice.

“You are in the right. You could not do other than you are doing. But it is very hard to bear.”

She reeled a little, and he, thinking her about to faint, made to support her, but she stiffened again, and he stood where he was. She bent forward, speaking scarcely above a whisper.

“There is a way of escape from this chamber, a secret passage. You can get from it to the park, and so into the open country and safety. You are my prisoner. I release you from your parole. Fly, while there is time.”

The loyal lovers were so absorbed in their honorable contest that they did not heed how the door of the King’s apartment opened, first a little inch, then, slowly, wider and wider, allowing Charles Stuart to see and hear. A curious smile reigned over the delicate face as Brilliana made her proposal, and lingered in whimsical doubt for the response.

The response came quickly. Again Evander was saying Brilliana nay.

“I cannot that, neither, dear woman, for to do this would be to make you disloyal to your King.”

“Oh, you split straws!” she cried, wildly. “A plague upon your preciousness which drives you to deny and die rather than admit my wisdom! You are no prisoner to the King. You are my prisoner. I took you, I hold you, and as my prisoner I command you to follow me, that I may convey you to some place of surety more pleasing to my mind than this mansion.”

From behind the door ajar there came a clap of hearty laughter which made harassed maid and man jump more than if their discussion had been interrupted by volleying musketry. The door was wide open now, and the King was in the room, his face irradiated with honest mirth.