He descended from the stage, and by this time a little crowd had collected about the fallen man. It parted to let the King through.

“Is he much hurt?” he asked.

“His arm’s broken for one thing, Sire,” said one of the onlookers.

“Poor wee laddie! Let him be carried gently into the Palace, and send one of my physicians to look to his needs.”

Someone had removed Robert’s helmet and his golden hair fell across his pale brow.

James looked at him. Why, he was like a Grecian statue, what beautifully molded features! The eyelashes were golden brown against his skin, and several shades darker than his hair.

At that moment Robert opened his eyes and the first face he saw among those bending over him was that of the King.

He remembered in a rush of shame that he had failed.

James said gently: “I’ve sent for a man to look to you, laddie. Dinna be afraid. He’ll look after you.”

He smiled, and it was the tender smile he bestowed on all handsome young men.

He turned away then and Robert groaned.

He had had his great chance but believed he had failed.

That evening James called his favorite, Sir James Hay, to his side and demanded to know how the young man who had fallen in the tiltyard was faring.