This was his moment.
He had found himself.
Never again, it seemed to him, at the moment, would he know doubt, anxiety or fear—
For some time, the wild frenzy of the crowd, down below, beyond the palace railings continued unabated. Then some of the people caught sight of the bareheaded, slim, incredibly boyish figure, in the inconspicuous grey lounge suit, standing on his precarious, windswept perch, on the parapet of the balcony. Then others saw him. Slowly, the surge of the crowd slackened. Slowly, the pandemonium died down. At last, the tumult and the uproar gave place to a universal, joyous cry—
"The King! The King!"
Then a great silence fell.
The King dropped his hand to his side, and spoke. His voice rang out loud and clear, the voice of a sailor, trained to pitch his voice, instinctively, to carry as far as possible in the open air.
"My people"—the words rose simply and naturally to his lips, thrilling him as he used them—"this was to have been a day of great national rejoicing. It has been turned, in a moment, into a day of great national mourning. I am unhurt, untouched. But a greater man than I, the Duke of Northborough, lies dying in the room behind me. He gave his life for mine." His voice shook a little. "From this moment, I hold my life, a sacred trust, at his hands.
"I will say nothing, now, of the madman, whose madness has been used as the instrument to strike down an old man, whose long and noble life has been devoted wholly to the best interests of our country. Death has already closed that madman's account. Nor will I speak, now, of the men, whose wild and reckless talk makes such madness possible. Such men turn, naturally, to assassination and murder, in defeat.
"I ask you, now, not to disturb the last moments of the great man, who has just crowned his long and noble life with the 'greater love,' before which we all bare and bow our heads, by any retaliation, by any outburst, by any demonstration, of the wilder passions against which he always set his face like flint. I ask you, now, to disperse, as quietly, and as quickly, as you can, and return to your own homes, the homes which the great man we mourn, within the last twenty-four hours, has guarded from the anarchy of revolution, and maintained in peace.