Save for her, the room was deserted; it was as if the prince had come to the castle and found the Sleeping Princess the only one awake.
If in that supreme moment St.George had leaped forward and taken her in his arms no one--no one, that is, in the fairy-tale of what was happening--would greatly have censured him.

But he stood without for a moment, hardly daring to believe his happiness, hardly knowing that her name was on his lips.
He had spoken, however, and she turned quickly, her look uncertainly seeking the doorway, and she saw him.

For a moment she stood still, her eyes upon his face; then with a little incredulous cry that thrilled him with a sudden joyous hope that was like belief, she came swiftly toward him.
St.George loved to remember that she did that.

There was no waiting for assurance and no fear; only the impulse, gloriously obeyed, to go toward him.
He stepped in the room, and took her hands in his and looked into her eyes as if he would never turn away his own.

In her face was a dawning of glad certainty and welcome which he could not doubt.
"You," she cried softly, "you.