“What shall we sing?” Cyril was asking. “Sweet and low?” suggested Anthea. “Too soft—I vote for ‘Who will o’er the downs’. Now then—one, two, three. “Oh, who will o’er the downs so free, Oh, who will with me ride, Oh, who will up and follow me, To win a blooming bride? Her father he has locked the door, Her mother keeps the key; But neither bolt nor bar shall keep My own true love from me.” Jane, the alto, was missing, and Robert, unlike the mother of the lady in the song, never could “keep the key”, but the song, even so, was sufficiently unlike anything any of them had ever heard to rouse the Babylonian Court to the wildest enthusiasm. “More, more,” cried the King; “by my beard, this savage music is a new thing. Sing again!” So they sang: “I saw her bower at twilight gray, ’Twas guarded safe and sure. I saw her bower at break of day, ’Twas guarded then no more. The varlets they were all asleep, And there was none to see The greeting fair that passed there Between my love and me.” Shouts of applause greeted the ending of the verse, and the King would not be satisfied till they had sung all their part-songs (they only knew three) twice over, and ended up with “Men of Harlech” in unison. Then the King stood up in his royal robes with his high, narrow crown on his head and shouted— “By the beak of Nisroch, ask what you will, strangers from the land where the sun never sets!” “We ought to say it’s enough honour, like the dancer did,” whispered Anthea. “No, let’s ask for _It_,” said Robert. “No, no, I’m sure the other’s manners,” said Anthea. But Robert, who was excited by the music, and the flaring torches, and the applause and the opportunity, spoke up before the others could stop him. “Give us the half of the Amulet that has on it the name UR HEKAU SETCHEH,” he said, adding as an afterthought, “O King, live-for-ever.” As he spoke the great name those in the pillared hall fell on their faces, and lay still. All but the Queen who crouched amid her cushions with her head in her hands, and the King, who stood upright, perfectly still, like the statue of a king in stone. It was only for a moment though. Then his great voice thundered out— “Guard, seize them!” Instantly, from nowhere as it seemed, sprang eight soldiers in bright armour inlaid with gold, and tunics of red and white. Very splendid they were, and very alarming. “Impious and sacrilegious wretches!” shouted the King. “To the dungeons with them! We will find a way, tomorrow, to make them speak. For without doubt they can tell us where to find the lost half of _It_.” A wall of scarlet and white and steel and gold closed up round the children and hurried them away among the many pillars of the great hall. As they went they heard the voices of the courtiers loud in horror. “You’ve done it this time,” said Cyril with extreme bitterness. “Oh, it will come right. It _must_. It always does,” said Anthea desperately.