d; he was gone.

Freddie and Robert turned homeward, and made hard work of it. The little
boy became extremely heated with his labor; but Freddie remained as
cold as ever. It is true that he perspired, but the beads upon his
forehead were like the beads upon ice-cold glass. His hands were so numb
that when he cut them slightly on a rock he felt no pain. His back,
where the old man had clung to it with his body, was coldest of all; he
was so stiff that he could scarcely bend his arms or body; many times
the little boy had to help him down; the chill spread; at the foot of
the mountain his legs were nearly as cold as his arms; when they passed
the Tower, his knees were as if frozen, and would not bend; the little
boy put his arm about him and tried to help him walk; he began to lose
knowledge of his whereabouts; he held out a stiff arm before him, like a
blind man, and dragged one foot after the other like a man whose legs
are made of stone. The little boy, weeping to himself, took his icy
outstretched hand, and led him home.

The palace door was thrown open. The little boy rushed in with a cry,
and turned around to his companion. The white-faced rigid creature which
was Freddie stood in the doorway, staring vacantly, and fell slowly
forward on its face upon the floor.

CHAPTER XXVI

THE KING'S TOWER

Freddie was very ill. He was so ill that after a week the King gave up
all hope, and believed he would die. The Queen wept bitterly; she
scarcely left his side; at night she did not sleep for weeping, and by
day she sat by his bed and watched his cold white face. His friends were
not allowed to see him, and of these it appeared that Mr. Hanlon had
been gone for some days up the Tower.

All that the best doctors in the city could do had been done, but the
Chevalier was no better. He lay under the blankets, cold as ice and
motionless as stone; and his eyes, big round eyes like the eyes of a
child, stared up strangely out of deep sockets. They looked up at the
King, who was bending down over the bed and smiling encouragingly. The
Queen and her three children, Robert, Genevieve, and James, were
standing close by, but they could not smile.

"Come, Chevalier," said the King, "you will be well soon, I am sure."

A faint voice came from the pale lips; not the voice of a grown man, but
the voice of a child.

"That isn't my name," it said, "my name is--Fweddie."

The King went away, and took his children with him;