Five minutes later they were at the back of the line of defence, in front of the great, open-work bronze gates; but all was quiet there; no sign of the enemy had been seen, and with the palace between them and the burning tree the boys looked up at it as it stood out against the glow shed by the fire, which lit up the two flags floating side by side, blown out by the soft breeze caused by the rush of hot air rising from the fire.
"Let's go in and tell them, Hal," said Phra. "They will be waiting to know."
Harry nodded shortly, but said no word, walking slowly into the great hall, where two of the first persons they encountered were Mr. Kenyon and the King.
Under the pressure of questions the boys related in simple words all that had occurred, the King listening till they had done, and then standing with wrinkled brow and compressed lip.
Mr. Kenyon was the first to utter what sounded like a confirmation of his thoughts in Harry's ear.
"Poor Sree!" he said sadly; "as brave a man as ever stepped. I looked upon him as a friend."
"Everything a man should be," said the King, endorsing this utterance of the poor fellow's fate: "simple, modest, devoted and true. Kenyon, my friend, we have lost one of our best supporters. He died trying to shield us from the perils which hem us in."
"Yes," said Mr. Kenyon, sharply now, as if making an effort to thrust the inevitable behind him. "You are neither of you hurt, boys?"
"My arm aches a great deal," said Harry, speaking in a dull, apathetic way.
"Ah! Your wound. Let Dr. Cameron see it at once."