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"
He got up, and walked to and fro in the cell, musing, and his
face grew dark and darker. "Your Monmouth was a fool," he said.
"He struck from the boundaries; the blow should fall in the very
chambers of the King." He put a finger musingly upon his lip. "I
see--I see how it could be done. Full of danger, but brilliant,
brilliant and bold! Yes, yes...yes!" Then all at once he seemed to
come out of a dream, and laughed ironically. "There it is," he
said; "there is my case. I have the idea, but I will not strike; it
is not worth the doing unless I am driven to it. We are brave
enough, we idlers," he went on; "we die with an air--all artifice,
artifice! ... Yet of late I have had dreams. Now that is not well.
It is foolish to dream, and I had long since ceased to do so. But
somehow all the mad fancies of my youth come back. This dream will
go, it will not last; it is--my fate, my doom," he added lightly,
"or what you will!"
I knew, alas, too well where his thoughts were hanging, and I
loathed him anew; for, as he hinted, his was a passion, not a deep
abiding love.


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