“Is that you, Wynkin?” he murmured, as at the sound of his voice the serving-man came beside him, while Lady Chauncy and Sir William, and a tall, dignified gentleman, who was the King, and had but that night arrived at the Manor, drew back, lest they might startle the boy. “Is it you, Wynkin, dear?”
“Yes, your Highness.”
“Ah! you don’t know what mighty strange dreams I’ve been dreaming. All about windmills, and little tots of girls, and then, oh, Wynkin, a terrible dark hole—so dark——”
“Think of that now!” interrupted Wynkin. “Well, if I were you I’d wait and tell it all to-morrow.”
“Yes, and then I heard my father’s voice. I wish that wasn’t all a dream, I can tell you.”
“Well, I expect that will be coming true before many days—perhaps many hours—are over. But, go to sleep again now, won’t you?”
“Yes. Is this the Cedar Room?”
“Certainly. You like the Cedar Room, don’t you?”
“Oh, yes. ’Tis well enough, but I don’t like the door of it to be locked.”