He beckoned me to stand closer—to stoop to him.
“A jar of old Greek and Roman coins.”
He fell back in his chair and stared up at me with frightened eyes. The mystery was out, and an awful dismay seized him that at length in one moment of sentiment he had parted with the secret that had been life to him.
“What have I said?” he whispered, stilly. “Renalt, you won’t give any heed to the maundering of an old man?”
I looked down on him pityingly.
“Don’t fear me, father,” I said, almost with a groan. “I will never breathe a word of it to anybody.”
“Good, dear boy,” he answered, smiling. “I can trust you, I know. You were always my favorite, Renalt, and——”
He broke off with a sudden, sharp cry.
“My favorite,” and he stared up at me. “My favorite? So kings treat their favorites!”
He passed a nervous hand across his forehead, his wild eyes never leaving my face. I could make nothing of his changing moods.