“Kneel down!”
He knelt and kissed the hem of her robe. Not even she was ever more beautiful than then.
“I crown thy harp, and call thee knight”—she touched his shoulder. “Be thou wise, brave, and tuneful. Rise, Sir Minstrel, and let these lords and ladies hear thy bravest harping.”
For a moment the old man was overcome. Then he swept the harp with such skill and grace there was instant silence. He sang:
GINEVRA.
He had heard of her beauty, but the half had not been told; what his eyes had this night seen would ever be a part of sight; his hand was weak and old, but so long as he could touch a string it should be to her name; and at his dying hour thought of her tender pity would warm his heart as it had never warmed with wine.
Praises ran through the crowd; the Baron sent Alfred with a purse of broad gold pieces, but the minstrel put it back with a smile, and unclasped the ragged cloak; down dropped hood, mask, and gray hair; out stepped a youth, tall, straight, and handsome; on his neck a sparkling chain the Baron knew right well.
“It is Prince Edward! Long live the Prince!” he exclaimed.
And every man knelt and shouted, till the arches rang,
“Long live Prince Edward!”