r Day came, never had there been so lovely, so holy a day: in
the great churches, filled with flowers, and sweet with incense, the
kneeling people listened to the choirs singing, and it was like the
voices of angels; their prayers were more earnest than ever before,
their praise more glad; there was something heavenly in Rome.

Robert of Sicily went to the services with the rest, and sat in the
humblest place with the servants. Over and over again he heard the
sweet voices of the choirs chant the Latin words he had heard long ago:
_He hath put down the mighty from their seat, and hath exalted them of
low degree_. And at last, as he listened, his heart was softened. He,
too, felt the strange blessed presence of a heavenly power. He thought
of God, and of his own wickedness; he remembered how selfish he had
been, and how little good he had done; he realised, that his power had
not been from himself, at all. On Easter night, as he crept to his bed
of straw, he wept, not because he was so wretched, but because he had
not been a better king when power was his.

At last all the festivities were over, and the King of Sicily went home
to his own land again, with his people. Robert the jester came home too.

On the day of their home-coming, there was a special service in the
royal church, and even after the service was over for the people, the
monks held prayers of thanksgiving and praise. The sound of their
singing came softly in at the palace windows. In the great banquet room,
the king sat, wearing his royal robes and his crown, while many subjects
came to greet him. At last, he sent them all away, saying he wanted to
be alone; but he commanded the jester to stay. And when they were alone
together the king looked into Robert's eyes, as he had done before, and
said, softly, "Who art thou?"

Robert of Sicily bowed his head. "Thou knowest best," he said, "I only
know that I have sinned."

As he spoke, he heard the voices of the monks singing, _He hath put down
the mighty from their seat_,--and his head sank lower. But suddenly the
music seemed to change; a wonderful light shone all about. As Robert
raised his eyes, he saw the face of the king smiling at him with a
radiance like nothing on earth, and as he sank to his knees before the
glory of that smile, a voice sounded with the music, like a melody
throbbing on a single string,--

"I am an angel, and thou art the king!"

Then Robert of Sicily was alone. His royal robes w