“We must catch this man, Yetive,” said Halfont, on the stairway.  “There is no alternative.”

“Except our inability to do so,” she murmured.  In that moment she determined that Grenfall Lorry should never be taken if she could prevent it.  He was innocent and it was Graustark’s penalty to pay.

The next day, amidst pomp and splendor, the Prince of Axphain started on his journey to the land of his forefathers, to the tombs of his ancestors, all Edelweiss witnessing the imposing procession that made its way through the north gates of the town.  Far up on the mountain top a man, looking from his little window, saw the black, snakelike procession wind away across the plain to the northward, losing itself in the distant hills.

XXI

FROM A WINDOW ABOVE

The longest month in Lorry’s life was that which followed his romantic flight from the Tower.  To his impatient mind the days were irksome weeks.  The cold monastery was worse than a prison.  He looked from its windows as a convict looks through his bars, always hoping, always disappointed.  With each of the infrequent visits of Captain Quinnox, his heart leaped at the prospect of liberty, only to sink deeper in despair upon the receipt of emphatic, though kindly, assurances that the time had not yet come for him to leave the haven of safety into which he had been thrust by loving hands.  From his little window he could see the active city below, with the adored castle; to his nostrils came the breath of summer from the coveted valley, filling him with almost insupportable longing and desire.  Cold were the winds that swept about his lofty home; ghastly, gruesome the nights, pallid and desolate the days.  Out of the world was he, dreary and heartsick, while at his feet stretched life and joy and love in their rarest habiliments.  How he endured the suspense, the torture of uncertainty, the craving for the life that others were enjoying, he could not understand.  Big, strong and full of vigor, his inactivity was maddening; this virtual captivity grew more and more intolerable with each succeeding day.  Would they never take him from the tomb in which he was existing?  A hundred times had he, in his desperation, concluded to flee from the monastery, come what might, and to trust himself to the joyous world below, but the ever-present though waning spark of wisdom won out against the fierce, aggressive folly that mutinied within his hungry soul.  He knew that she was guarding him with loving, tender care, and that, when the proper time came, the shackles of danger would drop and his way would be cleared.