It was an urgent, blind necessity that was laid upon him, rather than any action of his own will, which had hurried the King out of Uncle Bond's writing room. None the less, now, as he descended the staircase in the silent house, crossed the hall, and so passed out into the bright afternoon sunshine in the garden, he was not altogether unconscious of the motives which were driving him, in this strange way, to Judith. He wanted to see Judith alone. He wanted to talk to her. He wanted to explain things to her. And, most of all, he wanted Judith to explain--things which only she could explain--to him-- A few minutes of rapid walking led him across the lawn, in amongst the trees, at the far end of the garden. A narrow path ran, through the trees, to the little clearing beyond, in which the summer house stood. He followed this path. The green shade of the trees was welcome after the glare of the sunlight on the lawn. A breeze rustled amongst the overhanging leaves. Hidden away, somewhere, high up amongst the tree tops, a couple of jays chattered raucously in the sultry stillness. In a minute or two, the King caught a glimpse, through the trees, of the picturesque, crudely thatched roof of the summer house. A moment later, he saw Judith. Judith was sitting in a wicker work chair, at the entrance to the summer house, with her hands lying idle, for once, on her lap, gazing at the superb panorama of green fields, and wooded heights, which lay spread out before her in the sunshine. So intent was her gaze, she did not hear the King's approach. The King halted, abruptly, on the edge of the clearing, and watched her. A smile flickered about Judith's lips. The play of thought across her beautiful, vivid face reminded the King of the play of light and shade across some sunny hillside. He had never seen Judith alone with her own thoughts, like this, before. A kind of awe stole over him as he watched her. And yet, he soon grew impatient, and jealous, of these thoughts of Judith's, which he could not share. Stepping back, in under the trees, he trod, with intention, on a broken branch which lay on the paths at his feet. The snapping of the branch served to recall Judith to her immediate surroundings. She did not start. She turned her head, slowly; and saw him. The rosy flush which the harvest sun had put into her cheeks deepened. Her dark, mysterious eyes lit up marvellously. "Alfred--you!" she cried. "I was just thinking about you. And I had no idea you were so near!" A feeling of guilt oppressed the King. The shining happiness, the radiant trust, of Judith's face smote him like a rebuke. Slowly, he advanced across the clearing, and halted beside her chair. What was it he wanted to say? What could he say? Then, suddenly, words came to him. "You know--who I am," he said.