“I—I think the soldiers are coming, your Majesty,” said the trembling landlord.
“You think they are coming,” said the King. “Why should you think they are coming, landlord?”
There was the least tinge of amusement now added to the languor of the King’s tone. He pushed the traditional demeanour of a monarch, which had been in his family for generations, a point too far. Unconsciously, he was sealing his own fate by the unnatural tranquillity of his bearing. Slowly but surely his example was inciting the irresolute landlord to a better possession of himself.
“I—I thought I heard the sound of horses upon the road a minute since, as I sat by my kitchen fire,” said the landlord.
The frenzy was past. Gamaliel Hooker was beginning to speak again in his natural person. He was gradually becoming once more the master of his own mind.
Lady Farnham ran to the window. She pressed her ear upon it. Not a sound fell within the chamber; but all breathed heavily in an agony of listening. There was only the never-ceasing voice of the breakers, beating against the wind and rocks.
“I only hear the roar of the sea,” said the lady, a minute afterwards.
“Plainly you were mistaken, landlord,” said the King, impassively. “But the great distress your fancies put you in was highly commendable to you. Your fears are groundless; but the new proofs they have furnished of your fidelity and good feeling towards us shall certainly not be forgotten. Landlord, we thank you.”
The landlord bent his white face. He had so much recovered himself, that as he backed out of the King’s presence he was able to say:
“What hour do you desire your supper, Sire?”