Hardly had Harold finished speaking these last words in the tragic story
of the Bear's Daughter, when there arose from the market-place such a
hubbub and commotion that the Red King's comments on the tale were quite
lost. Voices were shouting and cheering; trumpets were blowing and drums
beating; over the clang of weapons and neighing of horses one caught the
_tramp, tramp_ of marching feet.
Red Rex sprang to his feet, drawing his sword and growing very red in
the face. Once again he was the fierce and terrible War-Lord. But Harold
did not notice. He was too much excited at the tumult going on outside.
He ran hastily to the window and looked out. The square was full of
soldiers and banners and gayly decked horses. Men-at-arms crowded the
side streets, pouring continuously into the square. The ruined porch of
the library was crowded. A guard stood at the portal.
In the center of the square, bestriding a white horse, sat a stately
figure, dressed all in white armor. His snowy head was uncovered and he
spoke to the cheering people smilingly.
A great shout arose as he finished his speech. "Long live our good King
Victor!"