bent impulsively forward.

"What is it?" he anxiously questioned.

She only looked intently into the coals with trouble-clouded eyes and
shook her head. He could not tell whether in response to his words or to
some thought of her own.

Dropping on one knee at her feet, he gently covered her hands with his
own. He could feel the delicate play of her breath on his forehead.

"Cara," he whispered, "what is it, dear?"

She started, and with a spasmodic movement caught one of his hands, for
an instant pressing it in her own, then, rising, she shook her head with
a gesture of the fingers at the temples as though she would brush away
cobwebs that enmeshed and fogged the brain.

"Nothing, boy." Her smile was somewhat wistful. "Nothing but silly
imaginings." She laughed and when she spoke again her voice was as light
as if her world held only triviality and laughter. "Yet there be
important things to decide. What shall I wear for dinner?"

"It's such a hard question," he demurred. "I like you best in so many
things, but the queen can do no wrong--make no mistake."

A sudden shadow of pain crossed her eyes, and she caught her lower lip
sharply between her teeth.

"Was it something I said?" he demanded.