As he sang he noticed the shadows of those within the room moving fantastically on the ceiling, and when Sandy in a startlingly sweet treble caught up the air of the refrain, the figure of a lady approached the window and looked forth. The light gleamed on her bare white shoulders, and on the pearl necklace about her slender throat. Gabriel instantly recognised the Queen, and for a minute scarcely wondered at the thraldom in which she contrived to hold her husband, so radiantly beautiful was her face, so full of charm and vivacity her whole bearing. She turned her head now and imperiously beckoned to some one within. Gabriel, still with the strangest sense of unreality, sang another verse, half-fancying himself once more in the snowy garden at Hereford, half expecting to catch sight of brave Sir John Eliot’s snow effigy. He thought no scorn for to be born Of a birth both low and small; Betwixt ox and ass in a crib He was Laid poorly in a stall; To the shepherds in fold the thing was told, In Luke as you may see, Who sang glory to the Lord on high That did come for to make us free. As once again the chorus rang out, he saw the King join his consort at the window, and, watching the two, could not but reflect how amiable a gentleman His Majesty might have been had he not been fated to fill a position wholly unfitted for him. But then his face grew stern, for back into his mind there came a memory of the long, long list of grievous acts of tyranny and injustice for which the King was responsible; and he thought of Eliot done to death in prison, of Hampden laying down his life in the struggle to free the country, and of Falkland, contemned and misjudged by all, striving in vain to make peace, and dying broken-hearted in the saddest isolation. Haunted most of all by this memory of Falkland, he stumbled somehow into the final verse of the carol. And thus in death yielded up His breath, Saying, consecrated, just, All this was done by Christ, God’s Son, To bring men’s souls to rest. Therefore you all, both great and small, That here now present be, Serve him always, with diligent praise, The Lord God that made us free. In the chorus one of the courtiers at a sign from the Queen opened the window and threw down a few coins to the minstrels, after which their Majesties withdrew. Sandy groped in the snow for the money, Humphrey Neal courteously raised his hat, but Gabriel stood motionless, gazing intently up at the brightly-lighted windows.