Now they went on before to the Hall of Kings, and St.George, remembering what must happen there, turned to Olivia for one crowning moment.
"You know," she said fearfully, "before father came the prince intended the most terrible things--to set you and Mr.Amory adrift in a rudderless airship--" St.George laughed in amusement.

The poor prince with his impossible devices, thinking to harm him, St.George--_now_.
"He meant to marry you, he thought," he said, "but, thank Heaven, he has your father to answer to--and me!" he ended jubilantly.
And yet, after all, Heaven knew what possibilities hemmed them round.

And Heaven knew what she was going to think of him when she heard his story.

He turned and caught her to him, for the crowning moment.
"You love me--you love me," he said, "no matter what happens or what they say--no matter what ?" She met his eyes and, of her own will, she drew his face down to hers.
"No matter what," she answered.

So they went together toward the chamber which they had both forgotten.
When they reached the Hall of Kings they heard King Otho's voice--suave, mellow, of perfect enunciation: "-- some one," the king was concluding, "who can tell this considerably better than I.And it seems to me singularly fitting that the recognition of the part eternally played by the 'possible' be temporarily deferred while we listen to--I dislike to use the word, but shall I say--the facts." It seemed to St.George when he stood beside the dais, facing that strange, eager multitude with his strange unbelievable story upon his lips--the story of the finding of the king--as if his own voice were suddenly a part of all the gigantic incredibility.