“It is you!”
Leoline held out both hands to the loved one, and nestled close to his side, like a child would to its protector.
“Fairly rejected!” said the count, with a pacing shade of mortification on his brow; “and, my word being pledged, I most submit. But, beautiful Leoline, you have yet to learn whom you have discarded.”
Clinging to her lover's arm, the girl grew white with undefined apprehension. Leisurely, the count removed false wig, false eyebrows, false beard; and a face well known to Leoline, from pictures and description, turned full upon her.
“Sire!” she cried, in terror, calling on her knees with clasped hands.
“Nay; rise, fair Leoline,” said the king, holding out his hand to assist her. “It is my place to kneel to one so lovely instead of having her kneel to me. Think again. Will you reject the king as you did the count?”
“Pardon, your majesty!”, said Leoline, scarcely daring to look up; “but I must!”
“So be it! You are a perfect miracle of troth and constancy, and I think I can afford to be generous for once. In fifteen minutes, we start for Oxford, and you must accompany us as Lady Kingsley. A tiring woman will wait upon you to robe you for your bridal. We will leave you now, and let me enjoin expedition.”
And while she still stood too much astonished by the sudden proposal to answer, both were gone, and in their place stood a smiling lady's maid, with a cloud of gossamer white in her arms.
“Are those for me?” inquired Leoline, looking at them, and trying to comprehend that it was all real.