He returned to the room after about an hour of restless pacing up and down upon the house-top, with Mansfield, who fondly believed himself unseen, dogging him from behind the trellis the whole time. He seemed to have shaken off for the present the horror which had seized him in its grip, and apologised for his agitation, after approving the steps which Paschics had taken. “I must see a specialist,” he added carelessly, “and no doubt he will be able to put me right. Not a word of this, please, especially to the Queen. And, Mansfield, you will be interested to know that I don’t intend to commit suicide just at present, so that you need not devote your leisure hours to keeping me in view.” “Ernestine, are you on good terms with your cousin Prince Ramon of Arragon?” “He and his wife called upon me this afternoon--before we were at all settled, indeed. I think they mean to be friendly. But were you thinking of inviting them to the--the wedding, Cyril?” “Not for a moment. I was wondering whether Prince Ramon would object to my consulting him professionally?” Don Ramon of Arragon was the representative of one of those junior branches of the Pannonian Imperial house which have been deprived of political power by the changes of the nineteenth century. Far from murmuring over his loss of sovereignty, he had accepted the inevitable with marked satisfaction, and devoted himself to the study of medicine, giving his services freely to all who chose to consult him. He was now well known as a specialist in diseases of the brain, and rumour said that even his pious intention in visiting Palestine was not unmixed with the desire of investigating certain forms of madness supposed to be peculiar to the East. “Oh, I’m sure he would not mind,” said the Queen eagerly. “But, Cyril, you said you were so much better.” “My head doesn’t feel quite as clear as it ought, that’s all.” “You are sure it is nothing worse--quite sure? What a comfort it is that the Ramons should be here just now! We are not to expect their sympathy or countenance for our betrothal, I could see that; but I think Ramon will be quite ready to meet you privately, in any case. Cyril, do you mind my asking whether you are going to this entertainment of the consuls’ to-morrow night?” “I was not intending to go, but I will, if you wish.” “No, I don’t. I could not bear to see Ramon put before you. Oh, my beloved, you don’t know how I long to see you really Prince of Palestine, unquestionably first on your own soil. I feel quite wicked on state occasions. I want to go down and take your hand and lead you up beside me, and say to every one, ‘Yes, he is your king, and mine too. Don’t dare to offer me any honours that you would refuse to him!’” “My dear child, actually tears! If you only knew how little I care for all that sort of thing.”