people."

The King rose and flung back his high head. "John, the loyal service
you have done us and our esteem for your valor are so great that they
may well serve you as an excuse. May shame fall on those who bear you
any ill-will! You will now return home, and take your prisoner, the
King of Scotland, and deliver him to my wife, to do with as she may
elect. You will convey to her my entreaty--not my orders, John,--that
she come to me here at Calais. As remuneration for this evening's
insolence, I assign lands as near your house as you can choose them to
the value of L500 a year for you and for your heirs."

You must know that John Copeland fell upon his knees before King
Edward. "Sire--" he stammered.

But the King raised him. "No, no," he said, "you are the better man.
Were there any equity in fate, John Copeland, your lady had loved you,
not me. As it is, I must strive to prove not altogether unworthy of my
fortune. But I make no large promises," he added, squinting horribly,
"because the most generous person cannot render to love any more than
that person happens to possess. So be off with you, John
Copeland,--go, my squire, and bring me back my Queen!"

Presently he heard John Copeland singing without. And through that
instant, they say, his youth returned to Edward Plantagenet, and all
the scents and shadows and faint sounds of Valenciennes on that
ancient night when a tall girl came to him, running, stumbling in her
haste to bring him kingship. "She waddles now," he thought forlornly.
"Still, I am blessed." But Copeland sang, and the Brabanter's heart
was big with joy.

Sang John Copeland:

"Long I besought thee, nor vainly,
Daughter of Water and Air--
Charis! Idalia! Hortensis!
Hast thou not heard the prayer,
When the blood stood still with loving,
And the blood in me leapt like wine,
And I cried on thy name, Melaenis?--
That heard me, (the glory is thine!)
And let the heart of Atys,
At last, at last, be mine!

"Falsely they tell of thy dying,
Thou that art older than Death,
And never the Hoerselberg hid thee,
Whatever the slanderer saith,
For the stars are as heralds forerunning,
When laughter and love combine
At twilight, in thy light, Melaenis--
That heard me, (the glory is thine!)
And let the heart of Atys,
At last, at last, be mine!"

THE END OF THE FIFTH NOVEL

VI

THE STORY OF THE SATRAPS

"Je suis voix au desert criant
Que ch