After so high a flourish more impressive in its way was the simple announcement that followed: "Sister Jenifer Chantry."
Dignity led, quiet unassuming modesty came after; indifferent to her surroundings, obedient to the call of duty, she advanced in her father's wake toward the royal circle. They bowed their way round; and there, suddenly before him, Prince Max beheld the face of his dreams.
The eyes of the beloved met his; and he, struggling desperately to conceal his excitement and emotion from those who stood looking on, saw himself recognized without shock or quiver of disturbance. No heightening of color belied that look of quiet assurance and peace; with disciplined ease, perfect in self-possession, she courtesied and passed him by. And suddenly it seemed to him that all the air was filled with a strange humming sound, soft yet penetrating, like the populous murmur of a summer's day. Above the rustle of robes, the patter of feet, the subdued murmur of voices, and the regulated tones wherein Court ushers were announcing fresh names, that high vibratory note went on; elated and thrilled he listened to it and wondered, not knowing its cause—the quickened murmur of his own blood at the touch of Love's index finger upon his heart.
Now at last he knew who she was; now he could find her again on unforbidden ground, follow her where she had no excuse to hide, and press against all obstacles for an earthly fulfilment of that unpractically directed thing called prayer. For now it should not be only her prayer for him, but his for her; her very name—Chantry—expressed the need he had of her. She was the shrine within which his soul kneeled down to pray—not to any God, but to life itself. Here was the matrix from which all his desultory and scattered forces had been waiting to receive form and direction; to his own small fragment of that general outpouring which we call life, purpose and destiny had come. He with his adventurous theories, she with her patient and unflinching practice, how gloriously together they could tumble old monarchy to the dust and build it anew. For the first time in his life he felt almost fiercely desirous to step into his father's shoes. Strange that such sudden ambitions should be sprung on him by contact with a heart which apparently held none.
All this while he was returning the bows of bishops and their wives. They flowed by in solid file forty or fifty strong; for this was a demonstration with political import behind it, this was going to be in all the press to be understanded of the people; the Bishops about to fight for their own order were passing before the steps of the throne to indicate in dumb show that allegiance to Crown and Constitution which animated their hearts.
And then, gorgeous in cloth of gold and high funnel-shaped hat, introduced by the Minister of Public Worship but unaccompanied by his two black wives, came the Archimandrite of Cappadocia—a counter demonstration; and after him, forty Free Churches divines, all in black gowns, silkened for the occasion, but unenlivened by the moral emblems of their domesticity; a queer somber tail they seemed to that great eastern bird of Paradise under whose wing they would presently acquire the right to wear feathers as fine as his own.
Most of them had never been at Court before, and in consequence were not so well drilled as the Bishops. Some of them bowed too often, and too hurriedly, and before they need, beginning with the Lord Functionary whom they mistook for royalty; and they walked out sideways instead of backwards, reactionary methods of progress not being in their blood. Still, taking them for all in all, they were a very learned-looking body, and their presence in such uncongenial surroundings showed that they meant business.
And deficiency in their demeanor was quite covered by the deportment of the Archimandrite. In the new robe presented to him for the occasion by the Prime Minister (for the moth had got into his own) he looked superb, and behaved with a majesty beside which Jingalo's home-bred royalty sank into insignificance. Max frankly recognized his superior, and bowed low. "This is a descent of the spirit, Archimandrite," he said, as they touched palms; and as he did so a queer breath of eastern spices blew over him, for the man of God was chewing them.
And so, in this great overt act of respectful homage to the throne from both sides, the truce came to an end and the signal for fight was given. More important to Prince Max was the fact that it had revealed to him a certain lady's identity.