And so it was that Lorry chafed and writhed through a long day of suspense and agony.  Quinnox had brought to the little room some candles, food and bedding, but he utilized only the former.  The hours went by and no summons called him to her side.  He was dying with the desire to hold her in his arms and to hear her voice again.  Pacing to and fro like a caged animal, he recalled the ride in West Virginia, the scene in her bed chamber, the day in the throne room and, more delicious than all, the trip to the monastery.  In his dreams, waking or sleeping, he had seen the slim soldier, had heard the muffled voice, and had felt the womanly caresses.  His brain now was in a whirl, busy with thoughts of love and fear, distraught with anxiety for her and for himself, bursting with the awful consequences of the hour that was upon them.  What was to become of him?  What was to be the end of this drama?  What would the night, the morrow bring about?

He looked back and saw himself as he was a year ago in Washington, before she came into his life, and then wondered if it could ready be he who was going through these strange, improbable scenes, these sensations.  It was nine o’clock in the evening when Quinnox returned to the little room.  The waiting one had looked at his watch a hundred times, had run insanely up and down the passage in quest of the secret exit, had shouted aloud in the frenzy of desperation.

“Have you seen her?” he cried, grasping the new-comer’s hand.

“I have, but, before God, I could not tell her what I had done.  Your visit will be a surprise, I fear a shock.”

“Then how am I to see her?  Fool!  Am I to wait here forever—­”

“Have patience!  I will take you to her tonight—­aye, within an hour.  To-morrow morning she signs away the northern provinces and her instructions are that she is not to be disturbed to-night.  Not even will she see the Countess Dagmar after nine o’clock.  It breaks my heart to see the sorrow that abounds in the castle to-night.  Her Highness insists on being alone and Bassot, the new guard, has orders to admit no one to her apartments.  He is ill and I have promised that a substitute shall relieve him at eleven o’clock.  You are to be the substitute.  Here is a part of an old uniform of mine, and here is a coat that belonged to Dannox, who was about your size.  Please exchange the clothes you now have on for these.  I apprehend no trouble in reaching her door, for the household is in gloom and the halls seem barren of life.”

He threw the bundle on a chair and Lorry at once proceeded to don the contents.  In a very short time he wore, instead of the cell keeper’s garments, a neat-fitting uniform of the royal guard.  He was trembling violently, chilled to the bone with nervousness, as they began the ascent of the stairs leading to the chapel.  The crisis in his life, he felt, was near at hand.