He went up to the bed, and, shading the candle, looked down.
The curtains were gathered back within their cords, and revealed the Prince lying on his side, his head raised by a pile of pillows, his hands outside the coverlet.
Any one not knowing him so well as did Mr. Bromley would have been startled by the extreme pallor of the face, which had an almost deathlike look in contrast with the tumbled auburn hair. His whole appearance was more that of one in a swoon than in normal sleep, save that his lips were closed firmly and his fine nostrils quivered with his breathing.
“Your Highness,” said Mr. Bromley, and moved his hand so that the candlelight flashed over the bed.
William gave a little sigh and opened his great eyes.
“Is that you, Bromley?”
“Yes, Sir, it is I.”
The Prince sat up, in a moment alert and composed. It was wonderful how his eyes gave life and animation to his pale and frail appearance. The look of great delicacy so noticeable in his sleep seemed hardly there when his brilliant glance dominated his face.
“What is it?” he asked.
“A Messenger from the Hague, Highness, with letters.”