"The Duke wanted me to go to Windsor, or to Sandringham, to be out of the way of possible trouble. I said I'd come here. I told him, that it seemed to me, that if there was one man, in the whole country, who would be justified in striking, in leaving his work, I was that man. I told him that I'd go on strike too. Coming here was my way of going on strike. I thought that I was asserting myself. I thought that I was showing that I was a man. All the time I was simply playing into the Duke's hands, of course. The Duke would be quite content that I should come here, I think. He knows that I can't get into any mischief here. He has seen to that! Uncle Bond tells me that there are half a dozen plain clothes men in the kitchen. Did you know that? A battalion of the Guards is to put a picket line round the house, too. At first I--resented the Duke's arrangements. Now, somehow, I don't seem to care-- "So much has happened in the last twenty-four hours, I have been through so much, I don't seem to have any will, any feeling, any personality left. My own thoughts, my own words, my own actions seem to me, now--like the disjointed pieces of a jig-saw puzzle, which I shall never be able to put together again. I don't know--where I am. I don't know--where I stand. I am all at sea. The bottom seems, suddenly, to have dropped out of everything. I have been humoured, managed, controlled, all through. I can see that. Now, I am--just like a derelict ship. The rudder has gone. The charts are lost. I am being driven, this way and that, at the mercy of--everybody's will, but my own-- "Somehow, you are my only hope. Somehow, I feel that you will understand me--better than I understand myself. I suppose that that means that I love you. You know that. And I know that you love me. There can be no doubt about that, after last night. And yet, somehow, even that doesn't excite me now. It doesn't seem to mean--what I suppose it ought to mean--to me. Why doesn't it mean--more to me? I am trying to tell you the truth, so far as I can see it. I am sick of mystery. I am utterly weary of deceit. It seems to me, that--our only hope is--plain speaking--" All this time, Judith had remained motionless, and quiescent, in her chair. She turned, now, a little towards the King. Her expression was grave, but friendly. "I want you to sit down, Alfred," she said quietly. "Find another chair, and bring it out here. When you sit down, I will talk to you. I want to talk to you." The King swung round into the summer house, and brought out another chair. Placing it beside Judith's, he sat down. Then he fixed his eyes upon her face. "I am glad that you have said, what you have said, Alfred," Judith began. "I have wanted you to give me your confidence, the whole of your confidence, for so long. I have always understood, I think, why you have been silent--about so many things. But I wanted you--to trust me. Now--you have trusted me--