George a face of
singular calm. It was as if so many phantoms vexed his brain that a
strange reality was of little consequence. But as his eyes met those
of St. George a sudden dimness came over them, the lids fluttered
and dropped, and his lips barely formed his words:
"The king," he said. "I did not leave the king. It was the king who
somehow went away and left me here--"
He threw out his hands blindly, tottered and swayed from the wall;
and St. George received him as he fell, measuring his length upon
the stones before King Otho's future tomb.
St. George caught down the light and knelt beside him. Death seemed
to have come "pressing within his face," and breathing hardly
disquieted his breast. St. George fumbled at the old man's robe, and
beneath his fingers the heart fluttered never so faintly. He
loosened the cloth at the withered throat, passed his hand over the
still forehead, and looked desperately about him.
The other inmates of the palace were, he reflected, about two good
city blocks from him; and he doubted if he could ever find his
unaided way back to them.
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