"We are tired; we came back expecting to be able to tell it all to him. We have always been looking forward to that. We never thought once that he might be gone. And he _was_ gone. Did you feel as if--" he turned towards the sofa, "as if something had struck you on the chest?" "Yes," The Rat answered heavily. "Yes." "We weren't ready," said Marco. "He had never gone before; but we ought to have known he might some day be--called. He went because he was called. He told us to wait. We don't know what we are waiting for, but we know that we must not be afraid. To let ourselves be _afraid_ would be breaking the Law." "The Law!" groaned The Rat, dropping his head on his hands, "I'd forgotten about it." "Let us remember it," said Marco. "This is the time. 'Hate not. _Fear_ not!'" He repeated the last words again and again. "Fear not! Fear not," he said. "_Nothing_ can harm him." The Rat lifted his head, and looked at the bed sideways. "Did you think--" he said slowly--"did you _ever_ think that perhaps _he_ knew where the descendant of the Lost Prince was?" Marco answered even more slowly. "If any one knew--surely he might. He has known so much," he said. "Listen to this!" broke forth The Rat. "I believe he has gone to _tell_ the people. If he does--if he could show them--all the country would run mad with joy. It wouldn't be only the Secret Party. All Samavia would rise and follow any flag he chose to raise. They've prayed for the Lost Prince for five hundred years, and if they believed they'd got him once more, they'd fight like madmen for him. But there would not be any one to fight. They'd _all_ want the same thing! If they could see the man with Ivor's blood in his veins, they'd feel he had come back to them--risen from the dead. They'd believe it!" He beat his fists together in his frenzy of excitement. "It's the time! It's the time!" he cried. "No man could let such a chance go by! He _must_ tell them--he _must_. That _must_ be what he's gone for. He knows--he knows--he's always known!" And he threw himself back on his sofa and flung his arms over his face, lying there panting. "If it is the time," said Marco in a low, strained voice--"if it is, and he knows--he will tell them." And he threw his arms up over his own face and lay quite still. Neither of them said another word, and the street lamp shone in on them as if it were waiting for something to happen. But nothing happened. In time they were asleep. XXIX 'TWIXT NIGHT AND MORNING