But her work had been done.

That icy stream in the blood, which is cause and proof at once of the kingly isolation, was doubly in Richard, first of that name.

He beheld her kneeling at his knee, knew her and knew her not.

She with her cold lips kissed his cold hand.

That day had love, by her own desire, been frozen; and that which was to awaken it was itself numb in sleep.
On the third of September they crowned him King, and found that he was to be King indeed.