Observing that his presence was not suspected, Richelieu remained with his eye glued to the keyhole. It was well that he did so, for the conspirators now laid off their masks, and among them he recognized the king himself! Here was a situation that he believed unique; in all his experience in court and camp there was no precedent A sovereign conspiring for his own overthrow, his assassination! Richelieu was deeply affected by so striking an instance of unselfishness. He reeled and fell to the floor in an agony of admiration. _From “The Road to Tusculum.”_ No sooner did Cicero perceive his legions retreating than he spurred impetuously from the field, thundering that all was lost. Passing swiftly across the Tiber by a secret bridge, he proceeded to the Forum, and entering the senate unannounced, communicated the news of the disaster. This was Pompey’s opportunity; he rose in his place and extending his index finger in the direction of the defeated warrior exclaimed in sarcastic accents: “Romans, behold your liberator from the chains of the Volscians! Behold the orator-general to whom you owe so much! Let him hereafter (if we have a hereafter) oppose to his country’s armed invaders the power of his matchless tongue. The sword is too heavy for a hand trained in the light calisthenics of gesticulation!” Maddened by this artful arraignment, the senators rose as one Roman and, headed by Marcus Aurelius, fell upon the unfortunate commander, tearing him limb from limb! _From “The Loves of Cromwell.”_ Night fell darkly over the city of Worcester. Cromwell had marched all day to reach it by seven roads, and at nine in the evening besieged it with a hundred thousand men. A desperate struggle ensued, at the close of which Cromwell rose from his knees victorious over the forces of his king. “Bring that son of Belial before me!” he roared, “that I may deal with him according to his sins.” Charles, pale and trembling, with manacled hands and bowed head, was led in. The lord protector eyed him haughtily, then addressing a brief prayer to Heaven sprang forward and with one stroke of his blade severed the royal head from the royal shoulders. Thus ended the War of the Roses, and England was again a republic. OUR TALES OF SENTIMENT _From “One Woman.”_ Gladys climbed to the balustrade of the bridge and, adjusting her skirts, plunged into the gloomiest forebodings. “Why,” she said, “should the future look so dark to one possessing all that fortune can donate?”