Ruth’s heart sank. Was failure to meet them after all, when victory had seemed so near?
“You have sung well to-night, little Queen,” the King said—“and to-morrow is our wedding day.”
“I have failed, Sire,” she said, “in that which I most wished to do.”
“What is that?” he asked.
“I had thought to put you all asleep to-night—all here in the Palace. I had almost succeeded, when a great moth flew through the open window and awakened your Majesty. Could I but have reached your side in time, I would have driven the thing away: then you too would have slept, and then I should have been happy indeed!”
“Well, Child,” said the King indulgently, “if you desire that so much, sing on. It will take but a few moments to lull me into as deep a sleep as any here in the Hall!”
He settled himself comfortably in a high armchair, stretched out, and rested his feet on a footstool made in such a shape as to fit the chair, making it almost like a couch. Ruth sang again, this time the song she loved most dearly.—
“The forget-me-nots in the meadow
Reflect the sky’s own blue,
As they lift their tiny blossoms
To catch the falling dew.
The Blue Bird flies o’er the meadow;
Through the calm his note is heard.
Lo, the throbbing heart of Nature
Is in tune with the song of a bird.”
The deep, heavy snores rose in a chorus around her as the song ceased, and this time the Bronze King slept even more soundly than Ruth had dared to hope possible.