The son of Johad did not await permission, he rushed into the room declaring breathlessly:
“Good news! The king lives. The king spoke.”
Solomon arose from his couch as if he expected some more definite communication.
“You must go back with me to the palace. It is a question of the anointing of a king.”
Solomon fell back weakly against the heaped up rugs upon his bed.
“I go not there again.”
“But it is the will of the king, and Bethsheba, your mother. Nathan awaits us by the river. In his hand is the holy oil for anointing. Adonias fled to the mountains.”
“I go not,” repeated Solomon.
“The nation awaits you. The judges are on your side. The warriors are calling your name through the streets of Jerusalem. And all this you owe to the Sunnamite maiden.”
“Abisag,” repeated Solomon slowly. “Am I pledged to give thanks to Abisag?”
“For everything,” answered Banahash. “She awoke the king. Otherwise he would never again have spoken.”
“Very well. On—on! I go,” said Solomon.
Seldom has a king at his anointing shown such indifference as Solomon. They did with him as they wished. They led him hither and thither. After being proclaimed king, he would gladly have gone back to Baalhamon. But David again lay as one dead,
