trees were smashed into kindling-wood; the farmhouses were heaps
of charred bricks; the shattered villages were like mouths full
of broken teeth. As the King looked round at all this, his face
darkened and the slight droop of his shoulders grew more marked.

"But, no," he said, turning to me again, "that is not my kingdom.
My real title, monsieur, is _King of the Belgians._ It was for
their honor, for their liberty, that I was willing to lose my land
and risk my crown. While they live and hold true, I stand fast."

Then ran swiftly through me the thought, of how the little Belgian
army had fought, how the Belgian people had suffered, rather than
surrender the independence of their country to the barbarians. The
German cannonade was roaring along the Yser a few miles away; the
air trembled with the overload of sound; but between the peals of
thunder I could hear the brave song of the skylark climbing his
silver stairway of music, undismayed, hopeful, unconquerable. I
remembered how the word of this quiet man beside whom I stood had
been the inspiration and encouragement of his people through the
fierce conflict, the long agony: _"I have faith in our destiny;
a nation which defends itself does not perish; God will be with us
in that just cause."_

"Sir," I said, "you have a glorious kingdom which shall never be
taken away. But as for your land, the fates have been against you.
How will you ever get back to it? The Germans are strong as iron
and they bar the way. Will you make a peace with them and take what
they have so often offered you?"

"Never," he answered calmly; "that is not the way home, it is the