Through the score of eager, triumphant faces in the presence-chamber, the face upon which grief was written was instantly visible to those eyes which were worth so little for earthly foresight, and were so rich toward God.
"My Lord of Exeter! The King calls for you."
The King himself was that day at his happiest—with the last earthly happiness which he was ever to know. He was at home again—and his was a nature which clung to accustomed things; and he was expecting the daily arrival of his wife and son, when—as he and every body believed—all would again flow smoothly, and they would live happily ever after. But Henry was one of those rare souls who cannot be happy till they have made others so.
"I pray you, come this way, my good Lord," said the King. "There is trouble in your eyes. Is it aught I may remedy?"
"I thank your Highness heartily; but I fear not. There be evils that none save the King of kings may deal withal."
Exeter had not meant to say another word. But in five minutes—he scarcely knew how—he found himself telling the whole story of his sorrow to the tender soul which shone in those royal eyes.
"I need not tell you, my good Lord," said the gentle comforter, "that he were an ill soldier that should lie down to sleep ere the battle were won. It will not be long ere the battle is over. It seems to me at times"—and the dark eyes grew dreamy, as they were very wont to do—"as if it were only such a little while! And then God shall give us back to each other. We have only to wait for Him."
"My Lord, I cry your Highness mercy, but it looks to me this night a very, very long while."
The King smiled on his godson. The spiritual relationship between them made it only natural that the one should offer instruction and comfort to the other. He said, "Unus dies apud Dominum sicut mille anni, et mille anni sicut dies unus."[#]
[#] 2 Peter iii. 8.