Frightened of _her_? No, indeed! thought Celia, as she rose from her knees with a smile in answer to the Queen's. What fright she felt was not for Her Majesty, but for Lady Ingram. As she regained her feet, she suddenly saw that the Queen's son was standing beside his mother. The formidable mortal, whom Squire Passmore would have knocked down as his first greeting, and Patient have sermonized as an uncovenanted King! Hardly knowing what she did, Celia knelt again and kissed the hand that was extended to her. It was a soft white hand, which did not look as if it would hold the sceptre very harshly, and on one finger glittered a large gold ring set with a balas ruby, upon which a cross was engraved. Celia would have regarded that jewel with deep interest and veneration had she known its romantic history, stranger than any romance. This was the last relic of James's fallen fortunes, the ancient coronation-ring, "the wedding-ring of England," which had gleamed from many a royal hand before, and had been employed to many a strange end. While Philip in his turn performed his homage, Celia studied the royal persons before her. First, the King. He was tall, very tall[16]--a man whom few would pass without wondering who he was; rather thin, but with all this not ungraceful, and with an air of much distinction about him. An oval face he had, with a bright complexion; a forehead smooth and high, but not at all broad; arched eyebrows; eyes of a dark, rich brown,[17] large, and very soft; a mouth rather too large for strict proportion, but bearing an expression of mingled sadness and sweetness, which grew into fascination when he smiled. His smiles were rare, and his voice seldom heard; but very often Celia caught a momentary upward glance of the eyes, accompanied by a silent motion of the lips, and she wondered if it were possible that he was praying.[18] He wore no wig, only his own dark chestnut hair curling over his shoulders. This was the King whom England had cast out. She would have none of him, under any pretext. Rather than be ruled by this son of her own, she had set "a stranger over her, which was not her brother."[19] Celia wondered, for the first time in her life, whether England had done well. She turned with a sigh from the son to the mother, who was conversing familiarly with Lady Ingram, seated beside her. The Queen, Maria Beatrice, or Mary, as the English called her, Celia thought a most fascinating woman. She resembled her son in height and form, being very tall,[20] and slender.[21] Her face was oval,[22] her complexion clear and fair, but very pale;[23] her mouth rather large,[24] but her smile to Celia perfectly enchanting; her hair, eyebrows, and eyes were black. The eyes were very large, clear, and brilliant;[25] though when they smiled, as they were doing now-- "It was as if remembering they had wept, And knowing they should some day weep again."[26]