I felt keenly for him, for he was indeed a gracious, likeable young
fellow, born to purple poverty and a shadowy princedom, and now, as he
thought, with the reality of wealth and power snatched out of his grasp.
"If we go back," said he, turning his eyes on me, so that I saw how life
and light had quite gone out of them, "it's all over with my House."
"I hope not, sir," said I.
"I know it is," he cried bitterly, almost rudely. "All over with us--and
all over with me. If we go on, I shall at the worst go to my grave strong
and sweet. If we go back--"
He paused and looked moodily out of the window. I think now, as I picture
him to myself standing there, that he knew himself well enough to know
what was coming. For another picture of him comes to my mind, as I saw him
in Rome many years later, and shuddered as I saw him.
He turned and smiled at me, as one smiles who sips sour wine.
"If we go back, friend Wheatman, I shall just rot into it."
He spoke truth. I saw him rotting.
And then, because he had more stuff in him than any other royal Stuart
that ever lived, he turned round, proud and princely, as the door opened
and in came Mr.
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