, when he was really a champion, a
King-Arthur's-Knight. But if only he properly explained, Uncle Nevil
would surely understand----

And suddenly there sprang a dilemma. How could Roy make himself repeat
to Uncle Nevil the rude remarks of that abominable boy? And if not--how
was he going to properly explain----?

CHAPTER IV.

"What a great day came and passed;
Unknown then, but known at last."
--ALICE MEYNELL.

That very problem was puzzling Roy as he lay on his bed, with Prince's
head against his shoulder, aching a a good deal, exulting at thought of
his new-born knighthood, wondering how long he was to be treated like a
sinner,--and, through it all, simply longing for his mother....

It was the conscious craving for her sympathy, her applause, that
awakened him to his dilemma.

He had championed her with all his might against that lumpy
Boy-of-ten,--who kicked in the meanest way; and he couldn't explain why,
so she couldn't know ever. The memory of those insulting words hurt him
so that he shrank from repeating them to anyone--least of all to her.
Yet how could he see her and feel her and not tell her everything? She
would surely ask--she would want to know--and then--when he tried to
think beyond that point he felt simply lost.

It was an _impasse_ none the less tragic because he was only nine. To
tell her every little thing was as simple a necessity of life as eating
or sleeping; and--till this bewildering moment--as much a matter of
course. For Lilamani Sinclair, with her Eastern mother-genius, had
forged between herself and her first-born a link woven of the tenderest,
most subtle fibres of heart and spirit; a link so vital, yet so
unassertive, that it bid fair to stand the strain of absence, the test
of time. So close a link with any human heart, while it makes for
beauty, makes also for pain and perplexity,--as Roy was just realising
to his dismay.

At the sound of footsteps he sat up, suddenly very much aware of his
unheroic dishevelment. He tugged at the fallen stocking and made hasty
dabs at his hair. But it was only Esther the housemaid with an envelope
on a tray. Envelopes, however, were always mysterious and exciting.

His name was scribbled on this one in Tara's hand; and as Esther
retreated he opened it, wondering....

It contained a half-sheet of note-paper, and between the folds lay a
circle of narrow blue ribbon plaited in three strands. But only two