A sudden impatience with, a new contempt for, himself, swept over the King. What right had he to be sitting there, in peace and quietness, when there was uproar and tumult, perhaps, when great events were shaping themselves, perhaps, over there, beyond the wooded skyline? The Duke had urged him to leave the palace. The Duke had urged him to seek a retreat, an asylum, out of the way of possible trouble. All that was true. And yet, here again, by his own act, had he not placed himself--in an utterly false position? This was not his place! It seemed to be his fate, that he should always do the wrong thing! His worst enemy was, indeed--himself! The meal dragged on, drearily, and interminably, it seemed now, to the King. Would it never end? At last, the parlour-maid put the decanters on the table, and withdrew, finally, from the room. A moment later, Uncle Bond stood up, glass in hand. "I see no reason why we should not drink our usual toast, Judith," he said. "On the contrary, I think there is every reason why we should drink it, tonight-- "The King!" Judith sprang up, and raised her glass in turn. "The King--God bless him!" she said. The King had picked up his own glass, mechanically, and half risen to his feet. He set his glass down again on the table, now with a shaking hand, and sank back into his chair. Then, hardly conscious of what he was doing, he bowed, first to Judith, and then to Uncle Bond. He could not see their faces. There was a mist before his eyes-- "The King!" Their usual toast. They drank it nightly, then, thinking of him. For them it had a special, personal meaning. With them it was not only a pledge of loyalty. With them it was a pledge of affection, too. The King was profoundly moved. Then, suddenly, his brain raced furiously. "The King!" Judith and Uncle Bond would not be alone in drinking the toast that evening. All over the world, wherever men and women, of the true English stock, were gathered together, would not the toast be drunk, that evening, with a special enthusiasm, a special meaning? Not with the special, personal meaning, the special, personal affection, with which Judith and Uncle Bond had drunk it. That was outside the question. The toast was a bigger thing than any personal affection, than any personal feeling. It was a bigger thing than--any King-- "The King!" Had not his own pulse quickened, had not his blood flowed more quickly through his veins, at the words? They had acted upon him like the call of a trumpet. To what? "The King!" What did the words stand for? For the biggest things. For England, loyalty, patriotism, for ideals of service, personal, and national. No man or woman drinking the toast thought and felt precisely as any other man or woman standing beside them. But they were all united, all their varied thoughts, and ideals, and emotions were linked together by the words.