My Lord looked up, his eyes glittering with tears. "You are a woman, and women are braver than men. You are the Queen, and dying England dies with majesty. The lightnings of God shall find no cowardice, and at the Last Judgment England shall not flinch."
"I forgot myself," said Margaret very humbly, "Go on—I will be quiet."
"I must go on,"—my Lord wiped the sweat from his forehead. "When Brand recaptured Lyonesse last Sunday, Ulster's troops took refuge near Marazion, and there starved. On Friday morning, under orders from the Golden Hind they entered the city again, and for these two days they have murdered, plundered, and burned while they searched for Brand. Lyonesse is a ruin, but the master has not been found. It is known that he is alive, signals from his aerograph have been intercepted; but the search for his hiding-place has failed, and Ulster is coming back to-day."
The Queen was praying.
"In the great purposes of God he lives." My Lord lifted his eyes towards the declining sun. "There is hope, and I know that God will not let England go from serving Him. The fire of our national life dies down to ashes until the one spark left is hidden courage, ready to flame again when the time comes."
Browne turned his face away, for our Lady sobbed.
"Ulster is coming," said my Lord presently. "He has stolen the powers of Lyonesse, and for the time he is master—for the time."
Browne was peering at the western sky, shading his eyes with both hands.
"I see something," he muttered, "right under the sun, a bright speck, like a planet. Is that the Golden Hind?"
"Ulster is coming," my Lord shivered. "He will come here demanding audience." Then, looking up from where he crouched at her feet, "My Lady," he said in a very soft low voice, his lips tremulous, his eyes full of yearning love; "perhaps this is the last favour I may ever ask—to see the Queen alone."