“_Love?_” With the word, Dolores threw up her head. Into the veteran’s pale eyes her dark ones gloomed. “Already the King hates the one I love. If Satan should come into this limitless power, what torments he would devise for the great soul of John Cabot!” A sound startled them. The soldier-shade hobbled toward the window by which he had entered, motioning her to follow. Before opening the shutter, he whispered: “I’d best go. I dare not come again and there’s no way I can help you. You’ll have to make up your own mind what to do. Only remember there isn’t much time. He’s nigh about ready to strike. God A’mighty give you wisdom, ma’am.” He had wrung her hand. Almost was he over the sill when a blinding flash struck at him from out the drab-dim night. Not a sound escaped him. Not so much as a clutch at the air stayed his fall. His right hand raised to his cap visor in his old-time salute. Then backward he fell upon the floor. When Dolores’ eyes had recovered from their momentary confusion, she saw His Majesty standing just without. His pleased look reminded her of the fearing wretch she had saved from a like attack yesterday. Only the hope born of her happiness had defeated his power to hurt her. Although not happy now, she was far from despair. Should he turn next on her, only faith could save her. She must believe that, despite appearances on Earth and in Shadow Land, good was stronger than evil. He stepped aside, the King; glanced at the procumbent figure; smiled his attractive smile. “Damme if one can count upon the taste feminine!” The cynicism he addressed to the double of himself that showed in the nearest mercurized pier-panel of her chamber. For a moment he contemplated the dim reflection of his splendid proportions, the clean-cut features of his infernally youthful face and the perfection of his evening attire. “Is no age or fraction of he-man safe from you?” he commented. “So _this_ is why he always plead your cause, why I caught him _rendezvousing_ with you in the garden, why he talked me down? These shallow-looking folk, forsooth, are the deep ones.” “Your Lowness--” Dolores approached him with blaze-indignant eyes--“surely you do not assume that I or General Sam----” “I never assume. I know the worst. That’s my power. I ought to be disgusted with you, and yet----” He considered her face almost as interestedly as he had his own. The charm of his smile increased. He added: “I’ve often noticed that men never get disgusted with the lady in the case. But I’ll make a horrible example of that broken-winged old moth, lured here by your light, for benefit of other mashers. Have to protect your promiscuous stamp of vamp from the outside.” That he was angrier than he sounded was suggested by the snap of his fingers toward the window. Into the chamber sprang a pair of the palace guards.