The old man caught the hand, which again buried itself in the black shawl; but he trembled so violently that the lace tore in his grasp, and the queen broke from him in extreme terror. This insane violence convinced her that the man was mad. She darted away, and ran for her very life, not daring to cry out, but rushing on, and on, till the breath left her. The old man followed the flying woman, calling after her with pathetic cries, and beseeching her to stop. She looked back, a hand grasped at her shoulder, but she swerved aside quickly, and the old man fell headlong. The queen uttered a quick cry of thankfulness, and sped on, and on, till she came in sight of the palace. The old man, who had fallen headlong on the turf, lay insensible for a few minutes; but after a little he lifted himself up, and looked around for the lady who had almost reached the private door. “Gone! gone! gone!” he cried out, with pathetic mournfulness. “How near I was! My hand touched it! I felt the thrill and the power flash through me like an arrow, and then it was gone! Who was the lady? How did that ring come on her finger? Does she know that to her it will bring nothing but curses, to me power, strength, the blessedness of memory—spring of youth. Ah! why does she escape me!” He stood awhile with his clasped hands uplifted, his eyes full of tears. The agony of his disappointment quivered in every mild feature. Then he tottered on, muttering to himself. “Oh! how they baffle me! How long am I to wait! Are the fiends forever to have mastery? Oh, me! I could bear it if no evil came to others, while good is withheld from me. How long am I to wait?” There was no madness in the old man’s voice, but unutterable disappointment, the very mournfulness of despair. His step was slow and feeble; tears dropped from his eyes, and fell upon his beard, where they trembled like jewels. His lips quivered, and gave out soft murmurs of distress, as he followed after the queen, who fled from him. CHAPTER LXIV. DOWN IN THE LEAFY SHADOWS.