"No. I have not heard from the Duke," Uncle Bond replied. "But no news is good news, in this case, my boy, I am certain. My own idea is that the Duke will send no message until--everything has proceeded 'in accordance with plan'--until he has, definitely, 'cut the rope.' Then, and not until then, I think we may expect to see him here, in person." The King was silent. He was conscious that he would be ready for, that he would be glad to see, the Duke, when he came. Uncle Bond, with his uncanny, unerring instinct, seemed to read his thoughts. "Our intimacy is, I think, nearing its end. Or, if it is not nearing its end, it is approaching a time when it will be, inevitably, changed," he remarked. "Ours has been a strange association, my boy. But I am glad to think that it has been as pleasant, as it has been strange. It has been so to Judith, and to myself. And to you? You have enjoyed the hospitality which we have been so glad to offer you. And we have been able to do you some service--a greater service, perhaps, than we ever intended, a greater service, perhaps, than you, as yet, realize. "We shall not see as much of you, in the near future, I fancy, as we have done, in the past. Probably, we shall see less of you. Probably, a time will come when your very welcome visits here will cease altogether. But, I am glad to think, you will not be able to forget us. We shall always have a place in your memory--a place of our own--a place like no one else's. As the years go by, you will fill a more and more important, a more and more distinguished position. But you will not forget us. You will think of us gratefully. "I want, Judith and I both want, your memory of us to be without regret, to be a wholly pleasant memory. A mental oasis, perhaps, of a kind useful to a man who is condemned to fill a conspicuous, and responsible position--in the procession. There has been nothing in our association which you, or we, can regret, thus far. Be on your guard, my boy. See to it, that nothing occurs, that any of us need regret, in retrospect-- "I have fallen into a bad habit of gravity with you, I observe. I seem to have taken to obtruding my advice upon you. The Heavy Father! This afternoon. And now, again, tonight. I apologize! "And now I must revert to 'Cynthia'! We have had a wonderful day. You always bring me luck. But 'Cynthia,' when she once gets going is insatiable. I shall have to put in two or three more hours, with her, upstairs, tonight. We are thousands of words ahead of the time-table already. I shall be able to be idle for weeks after today. But there is a climax in the offing--a climax, a couple of pages ahead, which cannot wait. I must let it take its own course, shape itself, and get it down on to paper. It never pays to let a climax wait!" The little man stood up, and leaving the table, crossed the room to the door. But, by the door, he paused.