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The shepherds and herdsmen talked about Prince Ivor, and told old stories about him, and related the prophecy that he would come back and bring again Samavia's good days. He might come only in the body of one of his descendants, but it would be his spirit which came, because his spirit would never cease to love Samavia.
And his son whom she had insulted was Samavia's idol because he had borne the Sign. And also that if she were in Samavia, and Marco chose to do it he could batter her wretched lodging-house to the ground and put her in a prison "and serve her jolly well right!" The next day passed, and the next; and then there came a letter.
"Ivor! Ivor!" they chanted like a prayer, "Ivor! Ivor!" in their houses, by the roadside, in the streets. "The story of the Coronation in the shattered Cathedral, whose roof had been torn to fragments by bombs," said an important London paper, "reads like a legend of the Middle Ages. But, upon the whole, there is in Samavia's national character, something of the mediaeval, still."
If there had risen a wiser man in Samavia's time of need, it would not have been for me to remind them of their Lost Prince. I could have stood aside. But no man arose. The crucial moment came and the one man who knew the secret, revealed it. Then Samavia called, and I answered." He put his hand on the thick, black hair of his boy's head. "There was a thing we never spoke of together," he said.
A page, found hidden in a closet, owned that he had seen His Royal Highness pass through a corridor early in the morning. He had been softly singing to himself one of the shepherd's songs. And in this strange way out of the history of Samavia, five hundred years before Marco's day, the young prince had walked singing softly to himself the old song of Samavia's beauty and happiness.
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