for going, nor any fear of what she might find, but the injury to her pride swallowed every other feeling; and at last she said, in short sharp words, to the Bishop of Modenstein, having suddenly thrown the veil back from her face:
"He shall not live if it prove true."
The Bishop shook his head. His profession was peace; yet his blood also was hot against the man who had put a slight on Princess Osra.
"The King must know of it," he said.
"The King! The King is not here to-night," said Osra; and she pricked her horse and set him at a gallop. The moon, breaking suddenly in brightness from behind a cloud, shewed the Bishop her face. Then she put out her hand and caught him by the arm, whispering: "Are you my friend?"
"Yes, madame," said he. She knew well that he was her friend.
"Kill him for me, then; kill him for me."
"I cannot kill him," said the Bishop. "I pray God it may prove untrue."
"You are not my friend, if you will not kill him," said Osra; and she turned her face away and rode yet more quickly.
At last they came in sight of the little
