The sun would come up presently; how few of all the thousands asleep in the Palace were destined to see him set! The trooper who stood by the parapet watching the pale light climb the eastern sky prayed with a boy's fervour that the sun might never rise. "Jehovah of the Thunders, Lord God of Battles, don't let that sun rise! Have pity; destroy the earth, hurl us away into the night, but don't let the sun rise upon Margaret's death—the end of human liberty, and all the glory of manhood that was England! Oh, stay the sun! Have mercy and stay the sun!"
The trooper knelt down, and, reaching out his arms towards the east, begged the Almighty Father to stay the sun.
Our Lady's voice broke in upon his silence. "Browne," she called, "Browne, come here to me, I need you."
He came, standing at the salute.
"Look to the west," said Margaret. "The light is growing—look to the west and tell me—are there any ships?"
He looked into the violet gloom, hung like a funeral curtain over the west, then his arm fell to his side, but he dared not answer.
"The armistice," said Margaret, "ends when the sun comes up—the three days' armistice—they would not give me more. Not just in the west, Browne," said our Lady, gently, "a little to the southward, look again. Lyonesse is a little south of west, above the copper beech tree down in the garden."
But still Browne answered nothing.
"Are you short-sighted, Browne?" asked Margaret, patiently, knowing that he was noted for long sight. "Or is the sky still dark over to westward?"
But he answered nothing.