At last they came to a great hall, full of people who seemed met for some solemn purpose.  At the door stood the Grand Chamberlain in lace and velvet, holding in one hand his staff, and in the other an hourglass at which he was gazing earnestly.

“What is this?” he said sternly, as the Captain approached with his prisoners.  “Do you not know that this is a moment of life and death?”

In a few whispered words the Captain explained matters.

The Chamberlain stared sullenly at John.  “No more wizardry!” he said at last.  “We have had enough of that.  The King has just passed judgment on the sorcerer.  In five minutes he is to die.  The doctors declare this to be the only hope for the Prince’s life.”

“Oh, let me see him!  Let me see my good father!” begged John, clasping his hands piteously.  “I may yet save his life, I and these friends.”

As he said this, John had a sudden thought.  He fumbled in his bosom for the silver Cross, and held it out with trembling hands so that the Chamberlain could see it.

The man started back, turning pale and letting fall his staff of office.  “What does this mean?” he cried, “Who is this lad?  How came he by this token?”

Once more the Captain whispered to him.  The Chamberlain looked wildly at John, then at the hourglass, in which the last grains of sand had sifted down.

“The time has come,” he said; “the fatal moment is here!  I should give the signal for which the executioners wait.  But something holds me back.  In Heaven’s name, what does it all mean?  Is it sorcery or—­”

“It is the Lord’s will,” said John quietly.  “Oh, pray, let me see the King.”

“I do not understand,” muttered the Chamberlain hoarsely.  “But, in the name of the talisman which you wear, enter.  Go alone.  I dare not face the King with his order disobeyed.”

A broad aisle was left open down the hall through the ranks of lords and ladies.  At the end of it was a tall gilt throne.  And on the throne, clad in purple and gold, John saw a figure sitting, pale and terrible.  It was the King.  John knew his cold, cruel face, although the man had greatly altered in those weeks since the day of hunting in the park.  For now the King’s hair was snow-white and his body was bent like that of an old man.

John fixed his eyes upon this figure and began to walk forward steadily.  Beside him paced Brutus, looking up anxiously into the boy’s face.  In his right hand John led the bear, walking upright.  The wolf slunk behind, with lolling tongue.  In his arms John still carried the kittens, and on his shoulder perched the raven, while Blanche trotted behind him.

It was indeed a strange sight.  A hush came upon the hall, and every one stared open-mouthed as they passed along.  At last the King himself, who was sitting with bent head, noticed the silence and glanced up.  John, with his queer group, was now almost at the foot of the throne.  The King started up with a cry of rage and surprise.  He glared at the lad and at the animals with blazing eyes.  “What does this mean?” he shouted.