She stood opposite me, beside the window, from which she had not moved since entering the room.
The color was still in her cheeks, the light in her eyes, and she still held the roses with which Sparrow had heaped her arms.

I was moving to the table.
"Wait!" she said, and I turned toward her again.
"Have you no questions to ask ?" she demanded.
I shook my head.

"None, madam." "I was the King's ward!" she cried.
I bowed, but spoke no word, though she waited for me.
"If you will listen," she said at last, proudly, and yet with a pleading sweetness,--"if you will listen, I will tell you how it was that I--that I came to wrong you so." "I am listening, madam," I replied.
She stood against the light, the roses pressed to her bosom, her dark eyes upon me, her head held high.

"My mother died when I was born; my father, years ago.

I was the King's ward.