o longer; Phyllis had passed;
and I became conscious of a vague regret.

"I am glad," she said, "that you were able to come. I wanted to speak
to you about--about my sister."

"Your Highness--"

She laughed. "Our interview shall end at once if you call me by that
title. Sir," with a gaiety which struck me as unnatural, "you are
witnessing the passing of Phyllis. It will not be long before she
shall pass away and never more return, and the name shall fade till it
becomes naught but a dear memory. Phyllis has left the green pastures
for the city, and Corydon followeth not."

"Phyllis," said I, "you are cutting me to the heart."

"But to the matter at hand," she said quickly. "There is a
misunderstanding between you and my sister Hildegarde. She sent me
this letter. Read it."

It differed but little from the one I had read in the King's chamber
that morning. I gave it back to her.

"Do you understand?"

"I confess that I do not. It seems that I am never going to understand
anything again."

Phyllis balanced the letter on the palm of her hand. "You are so very
blind, my dear friend. Did you not tell her that there had been
another affair? Do you not believe she thinks your regard for her
merely a matter of pique, of consolation? It was very kind of her to
sacrifice herself for me. Some women are willing to give up all to see
the man they love made happy. My sister is one of those. But I shall
refuse the gift. Jack, can you not see that the poor woman thinks that
you love me?" Phyllis was looking at me with the greatest possible
kindness.

"I know not what she thinks. I only know that she has written me that
she is sorry for having played with my affections. Phyllis, if she
loved me she would not leave me as she has done."

"Oh, these doubting Thomases!" exclaimed Phyllis. "How do you know
that she does not love you? Have you one true proof that she does not?
No; but you have a hundred that she does."

"But--"

"Do you love her?" demanded Phyllis, stamping her foot with impatience.

"Love her? Have I not told you that I do?" gloomily.

"And will you give her up because she writes you a letter? What has
ink to do with love and a woman? If you do not set out at once to find
her, I shall never forgive you. She is my sister, and by that I know
that you cannot win her by sitting still. Go find her and tell her
that you will never leave her till she is your wife. I do not mean to
i