it is better; she does not know what has happened.''

Clay, still bearing the body in his arms, pushed open the first
door that stood ajar before him with his foot. It opened into
the great banqueting hall of the palace, but he could not choose.

He had to consider now the safety of the living, whose lives were
still in jeopardy.

The long table in the centre of the hall was laid with places for
many people, for it had been prepared for the President and the
President's guests, who were to have joined with him in
celebrating the successful conclusion of the review. From
outside the light of the sun, which was just sinking behind the
mountains, shone dimly upon the silver on the board, on the glass
and napery, and the massive gilt centre-pieces filled with great
clusters of fresh flowers. It looked as though the servants
had but just left the room. Even the candles had been lit in
readiness, and as their flames wavered and smoked in the evening
breeze they cast uncertain shadows on the walls and showed the
stern faces of the soldier presidents frowning down on the
crowded table from their gilded frames.

There was a great leather lounge stretching along one side of the
hall, and Clay moved toward this quickly and laid his burden
down. He was conscious that Hope was still following him. He
straightened the limbs of the body and folded the arms across the
breast and pressed his hand for an instant on the cold hands of
his friend, and then whispering something between his lips,
turned and walked hurriedly away.