He blew out the candles on the writing table, the only light in the room. "Sit down, my boy," he said. "Can you feel your way to the sofa? The moon rises late tonight. In this dubious, half light, we may be able to talk--at our ease." The King found his way to the sofa, under the windows, without any difficulty, and sat down. A dusky veil, which was not darkness, had been drawn over the room, when Uncle Bond blew out the candles. Outside the windows, there was still a luminous glow in the sky, where one or two stars shone palely. A couple of bats fluttered, to and fro, across the length of the windows. Some martins, settling down for the night, in their nests, under the eaves of the house, twittered excitedly-- "Shall we talk?" Uncle Bond asked suddenly. "I am ready to talk. And yet--I have no great faith in words. 'Cynthia' uses them. But plain James Bond has learnt their danger. After all, when an action speaks for itself, why use words? They will probably be the wrong words." "I do not think that I want to talk, Uncle Bond," the King said slowly. It seemed to him, now, that he had already said enough, perhaps too much, when he had entered the room. "I am content," Uncle Bond said. "I am not afraid of silence." Silence, at the moment, was welcome to the King-- It was a soothing, sedative silence, which brought with it the first hush of night. The King settled himself, more comfortably, at full length, on the sofa. Uncle Bond neither moved, nor spoke. Some time passed. At last, Uncle Bond stood up, and crossed quietly to the sofa. The King was asleep. The little man drew out two or three blankets, from under the sofa, and threw them over the King. Then he returned to the writing table, and sat down. But he did not relight his candles, and resume his work. He leant back in his chair, in an attitude of expectancy, as if he were waiting for somebody. He had not long to wait. In a minute or two, the door behind him was opened, quietly, and Judith slipped into the room. Judith halted behind the little man, and stood there, for some time in silence, gazing at the King's face, which was dimly visible in the light from the windows. At last, she spoke. "He is asleep?" she whispered. "Yes," Uncle Bond said. "When you remember the strain under which he has been running, you can hardly be surprised." There was a short silence. Then Judith laid her hand on the little man's shoulder. "It was--my fault, Uncle Bond," she whispered. "I--failed him. It has happened twice now. Last night was the first time. And tonight--he knew that it was going to happen again. I don't know--how it happened. It ought not to have happened--" "It had to happen. It is a good thing that it has happened," Uncle Bond said quietly. "It was--the necessary climax. I have been expecting it. And now--it is over--