"There is time enough to decide," said Mary softly; her ringed right hand timidly caressed his hair, scarcely touching it. "Have you many toys?" "No, ma’am." "Do you care for them?" He considered. "Books," he said, with a little frown, "that you can tear the pictures out of—pictures of fights, ma’am—and blackamoor’s teeth." "What are they?" asked Mary, gazing earnestly at him; she spoke with a catch in her breath. He put his hand into his pocket and produced several cowrie shells. "There, ma’am—they come from far away." His eyes glittered. "It would be good to be a sailor, would it not, ma’am?" "You are a grave child," said Mary; she drew him softly nearer to her, and bent her beautiful pale face near to his. "You pray for the King, do you not?" "On Sunday, ma’am." "Pray for him whenever you say your prayers—and for the Queen." He nodded. "The poor Queen!" he said. "Why do you say that?" asked Mary, startled. "Master Wren said those words—like that—’the poor Queen!’ ma’am." Mary stared at him intently; her arms tightened about him. Suddenly she pressed him up to her bosom, where his little head rested patiently among her thick laces. "The poor Queen!" she whispered wildly, and drew him closer, till he was half frightened by the force of her embrace and the beating of her heart beneath his cheek. "Oh, ma’am!" he cried, "I have even dropped the blackamoor’s teeth." She let him go, and watched him with desperate eyes while he searched and recovered the gleaming white shells from the dusty floor. As he busily sought for one in the shadow of the chest, a soft whistle sounded twice; he sprang to his feet at once. "That is my father—I must go now, ma’am." The Queen held out her hands appealingly. "Will you not kiss me?" He came obediently and held up his unconscious face. Mary’s lips touched his brow in the saddest salute he was ever like to know. He did not offer to return it, but made a little bow, and so left her. She sat quite still, listening to the sound of his unequal footsteps departing; then she stooped and picked up the shell he had abandoned. She fancied that it was still warm and moist from his tight clutch, and as she looked at it the tears veiled her eyes and fell on to her trembling palm. "O God!" she cried aloud, with a passion that had slipped her control. "Ye had no right to make childless women!" She flung the shell from her, and buried her face in her hands, while the painful sobs heaved her body. She had not long even the comfort of lonely weeping, for the sound of voices and footsteps coming up the narrow stairs caused her to rise heavily, with a start of self-reproach.