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the middle of the room, a mark for all eyes, for plenty of indignant
frowns, and for a sufficiency of amused and derisive smiles.
Miles Hendon was entirely bewildered. There sat the young King, under a
canopy of state, five steps away, with his head bent down and aside,
speaking with a sort of human bird of paradise--a duke, maybe. Hendon
observed to himself that it was hard enough to be sentenced to death in
the full vigour of life, without having this peculiarly public
humiliation added. He wished the King would hurry about it--some of the
gaudy people near by were becoming pretty offensive. At this moment the
King raised his head slightly, and Hendon caught a good view of his face.
The sight nearly took his breath away!--He stood gazing at the fair young
face like one transfixed; then presently ejaculated--
"Lo, the Lord of the Kingdom of Dreams and Shadows on his throne!"
He muttered some broken sentences, still gazing and marvelling; then
turned his eyes around and about, scanning the gorgeous throng and the
splendid saloon, murmuring, "But these are REAL--verily these are REAL
-
-surely it is not a dream."
He stared at the King again--and thought, "IS it a dream . . . or IS he
the veritable Sovereign of England, and not the friendless poor Tom o'
Bedlam I took him for--who shall solve me this riddle?"
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