The door to his room opened softly, but he did not turn, thinking
it was Anguish--always Anguish--and not the one he most desired
to--

"Her Royal Highness," announced a maid, and then--

"May I come in?" asked a voice that went to his troubled soul
like a cooling draught to the fevered throat. He turned toward
her instantly, all the irritation, all the uneasiness, all the
loneliness vanishing like mist before the sun. Behind her was a
lady-in-waiting.

"I cannot deny the request of a princess," he responded, smiling
gaily. He held forth his hand toward her, half fearing she would
not take it.

The Princess Yetive came straight to his couch and laid her hand
in his. He drew it to his lips and then released it lingeringly.
She stood before him, looking down with an anxiety in her eyes
that would have repaid him had death been there to claim his next
breath.

"Are you better?" she asked, with her pretty accent. "I have
been so troubled about you."

"I thought you had forgotten me," he said, with childish
petulance.

"Forgotten you!" she cried, quick to resent the imputation. "Let