"We need this reminder," she said faintly, "that we are all being judged." Then that swaggering, gallant, old Lord Roderic Scott rose, bowing to her Majesty and to the dead. "Madam," he said, "the Fleet is gone, the Departments may last an hour, and then the Republicans will turn their guns upon this building. If your Majesty is determined to wait, I trust we shall all have the decency to die like gentlemen. But I beg your Majesty to accept the use of my private yacht, and return to Windsor until we can raise an army." "My dear Lord Roderic," our Lady smiled. "What armies would care to fight for a runaway Government? I think I have a better plan than that. Sir Myles, I see you have troops here guarding the Palace." "Three thousand, madam, and a battery." "You have not enough men to save both the Departments and the Palace?" "Not nearly enough." "But if we had all the troops here, we might save the Palace?" "A desperate venture, madam." "So in any case the Departments must be lost?" "Better, madam, to give up the Palace itself, than to surrender the very seat of Government." "The Palace," cried Sir Roderic, "is no safe place for your Majesty." "I beg you, madam," urged Jesmond, "to retire." "Why so nervous, gentlemen?" asked Margaret, bitterly. "I see anxiety in all your faces--so loyal, so moved for my safety. Is it because you mined my Palace with a hundred and fifty tons of dynamite? How thoughtful of you! How considerate! You supplied me with explosives enough to mine all your Departments of State; for two days, gentlemen, I have been considering your case. There, over by the wall, on that little table, stands an electric key--one touch on that key at any moment these two days past would have released you all from these dull cares of State. One of you--a gentleman seated at this table--is the very leader of these Republicans. His aerograph lies upon the table before him, and he appears anxious to warn his friends by signalling." Her Majesty's piercing stare was fastened upon none other than Lord Roderic Scott. "Lord Roderic, you will lower your hand, both hands, down against your sides. Mr. Jesmond, you will take away his aerograph. If he lifts his hands he dies. Sir Myles Strangford, you will signal the officer commanding at Whitehall to withdraw and fall back upon the Palace, and you will order the troops here on guard to cover the retreat." * * * * *