I was unable to share her optimism. From the first I had felt that the stars in their courses would prove too much for the unhappy lady. And nothing had occurred to remove that fear.
The King returned from his walk, and suave and subtle of countenance, it pleased him to toy with a cup of Mrs. Arbuthnot's tea, while he toasted his muddy gaiters at the fire.
"My daughter has not returned from her ride?"
"No, sir," I answered him.
"The last ride together," said the King, gently. "One of your excellent English poets has a poem about it, has he not?"
A thrill passed through my nerves at the almost cruel directness of the King's speech. I saw that in the same moment the eyes of Mrs. Arbuthnot had filled with tears.
"You have great poets in England," said the King, softly. "They are the chief glories of a nation, and your country is rich in them. We have great poets in Illyria also. There is Bolder. We are all proud to be the countrymen of Bolder. When you come to see us at Blaenau I think you will like to meet him."
As the King spoke in his paternal voice, I was conscious of his hand upon the breast of my coat. He had pinned a piece of black ribbon upon it, to which was attached a silver star.
"I am afraid, sir," I said, suffering some embarrassment, "no man ever did less to deserve the Order of the Silver Star of Illyria."
The King took my hand in his with that wonderful cordial simplicity that was so hard to resist.