But hardly had the ecstasy of that thought laid its spell upon him when there came another not less divine, and his eyes went round the gathering in quest of one who should be here—at his side—to share this glorious moment with him.
She had come for that purpose—Narkom had said so. Where was she, then? Why did she hold herself in the background at such a time as this?
He saw her at that very moment. The gathering had risen and she with them—holding aloof at the far end of the room. There was a smile on her lips, but even at that distance he could see that she was very, very pale and that there was a shadow of pain in her dear eyes.
“We both have battled for an ideal, Count,” he said, with a happy little laugh. “Here is mine. Here is what I have fought for!” and crossing the room he went straight to Ailsa, with both hands outstretched to her and his face fairly beaming.
But it needed not the little shocked breath he heard upon all sides to dash that bright look from his face and to bring him to a sudden halt. For at his coming, Ailsa had dropped the deep curtsey which is the due of royalty, and was moving away from him backward, which is royalty’s due also.
“Ailsa!” he said, moving toward her with a sharp and sudden step. “Ailsa, don’t be absurd. It is too silly to think that forms should stand with you, too. Take my hand—take it!”
“Your Majesty——”
“Take it, I tell you!” he repeated almost roughly. “Good God! do you think that this can make any difference? Take my hand! Do you hear?”
She obeyed him this time, but as her fingers rested upon his he saw that they were quite ringless—that the sign of their engagement had been removed—and caught her to him with a passionate sort of fierceness that was a reproach in itself.
“Could you think so meanly of me? Could you?” he cried. “Where is the ring?”