"With sincere apologies for troubling you,
I remain,
"Your devoted and obedient servant,
"LAURENCE HOPKINSON."
They had no time to comment on this weird letter. As Norman uttered the words "Laurence Hopkinson" it seemed to him that he had started a spell by the very mention of the ungainly name. A hum and murmur came through the open windows: there was a clatter as if the town was waking from its age-long sleep. The inexplicable noise rose louder and louder till it could be distinguished as a roar of men, and the trampling and shouting of a wrathful multitude.
They listened first in wonder, then in alarm, silent. At last Norman cried, "Can you hear what they are shouting?"
"They are crying 'The King! The King!'" observed Sforelli.
"It is not a demonstration in my honour," said Norman, grimly. "Will you come with me and see?"
They crossed the palace courtyard together. Norman remarked with pleasure that the guard were already at the gates.
"There is no danger," said Sforelli, calmly. "All the guards are true as steel. The castle is defended by cannon. The guards know their work well, and we can depend on them to the last breath."
"Viva la rego. Viva nia rego. Viva la rego vera!" thundered the populace. "Viva...." but the iron gates clanged to, and the sound was cut off sharp and the murmur sounded once more dim and far.
A second after, the old Captain of the Palace Guard appeared, a fine white-whiskered old gentleman soldier. He deferentially insisted on leading them into a room above the gateway, whence the crowd could be viewed in all safety. The Captain of the Guard provided them with seats and bowed. "I have to apologize," he said, "for not having come to your side at once, but I thought my first duty was to secure the defences. I can assure your Majesty that there is no danger: and at a word from you we can clear the square."
"Let us give them a chance first," said the King. "I wonder if I could talk to them and find out exactly what they want!"