But the man who was to be tamed heard nothing, because of his pity for this helpless woman cursed with the heavy burden of the Imperial crown--betrayed, abandoned, yet still of unbroken and unflinching courage. He took from its clasp the rose which the Queen had given, the blood-red Order of the Rose for Englishmen who have served their country well. "It is bruised," he said, humbly, "by my clumsiness." "It still has thorns!" cried Margaret. "You have slandered our Ministers, and to-morrow you shall meet them face to face, to repeat this treason word for word at your own peril before the House of Commons. You have insulted your sovereign!" Her hand struck the bell thrice. "Gentlemen of the Guard!" Presently two orderlies of the Guard drew up in her presence, saluting. "Gentlemen," said her Majesty, "we have been insulted. Expel this man from the Palace!" Margaret sat alone in her balcony trying to hate Mr. Brand. She had never been so angry in her life. All men did her worship, hundreds of millions rendered to her their homage, whole continents obeyed her, and in her name the masters of the world commanded. Her Imperial Majesty had never been disobeyed, and here was a man who dared---- What had he dared? He dared to pity her because she had lost her temper. She tore her fan all to pieces and scattered the wreck on the floor. This monster had come to be subdued, to be tamed, to be turned from his purpose. He had not been much subdued, or to any great extent tamed, or in the least degree turned from his purpose. He was not even ruffled! The surf of her fury had beat against his cliffs, and then he said he was sorry to see her bruised. There was the stab of defeat. Thrust a sword into a pool, and where it touches the water it seems to bend. Such is the sweet obliquity of a woman's mind that, in its clearness, her defeat may seem better than triumph. He was rather a nice monster, this Brand; friendly in a quaint way, very frank in his admiration, and, whether she liked it or not, determined to save her from the Russian marriage. She was very angry still--with the Chancellor! When at last she gave the Chancellor audience, her face was hard, her manner cheerful, her bearing defiant. "Ulster," she said, "I've failed." The statesman was not such a fool as to ask for reasons. Well he knew the danger signals, the anger growing in her eyes, as she spoke with the directness of a man. "Mr. Brand," she continued, "wrote you a letter, part of which you told me, the other part kept back. Give me the letter!" "Oh, madam, not that, I implore you." "I insist." "Dear Lady, forgive an old, tried servant of the State, who would give his life to guard you from such things!" "Give me that letter!" There were tears in old Ulster's eyes as, with a shrinking reluctance, he protested--even while he obeyed--speaking of things unfit for the Queen to see, and devilish evil planned against her throne.