"I am the Queen's Champion."
"Live for her then," he said. He took off his helmet, and unfastened the Queen's favour, her glove, which was bound to the brow. "This to our Lady," he whispered. Then looking out to where the gigantic ship lay waiting him, and the Dictator impatiently cried for his son to come, "Tell her I go to plead for her and for England. Good-bye." My lord drew off his gauntlet, and, with his finger, touched his friend upon the forehead. "We shall not be long parted, you and I."
Then looking up to heaven, his face flushed by the dying sunlight, he set the glowing helmet on his head, took up his sword and passed slowly between the waiting ranks of the guard to where Lord Ulster received him upon the gangway. Even as the Dictator led him, he turned in the shadow of the port, and, lifting his sword hilt to his brow, gave the salute.
The gangway crashed home. Nine hundred feet in length, dwarfing the lofty Palace with her bulk, all gleaming steel aglow in the sunset light, the Golden Hind with one faint tremor spurned the ground away. She rose from her couch upon the shattered trees, slow lifting, while the glass of all her ports, tier upon tier, glittered and flashed like rubies.
Dismissed from their ranks, the Guardsmen clustered about the columns of the porch, watched the great ship go up.
Then Dymoke spoke to the officer and the rest. "Lords and gentlemen of the Guard, I have a message to you which Sydney left me. The Dictator threatened our Lady's life, and goes to meet his death at the hands of his son. My friend was too knightly a man even to take her token on such a quest." He showed them our Lady's glove. "He dies for the Queen and for his honour."
The rising ship was already far aloft.
"He has destroyed the Golden Hind!"
The ship at terrific speed whirled upward into the heavens.
Then Dymoke, removing his helmet, spoke to the others for "our dear brother departed. He asks us to pray for him."