"Sure," cried O'Brien, "he could stuff all his meekness into one back tooth."
"You mark my words," said Mistress Sarah, gravely. "His Meekness has fangs in him yet, and if I know him, he will strike to-night."
"Not if I'm dentist," said Brand of Lyonesse. He stood in the curtained doorway deadly pale, and, by reason of throbbing, insistent wounds a bandage about his head. To-night in token of service he wore again the splendid golden harness of the Guard.
"I ask your forgiveness, gentlemen," he murmured.
"Give him some wine!" cried Fortescue, "he's fainting!"
"Wine," said the master, as reeling to the table he splashed champagne into a glass. "Yes, drink with me to our Lady Margaret, the Queen!"
He swallowed the draught of wine, and gaining strength stood presently erect.
"Yes!" He flung the glass shattering to the floor. "So ends Ulster to-morrow, and so perish all her enemies!"
He fell into a seat beside the table.
"I'm not very well," he explained; "my doctor's at his wits' end. Poor Boyes believes he can't keep me going another hour. Let me see,"—he was looking down at the table, his eyes half closed, trying to piece the words together—"I have a report to make; yes, it's about the ships.