He appeared of a sudden strangely moved. The gnat’s particular humour, indeed, was the sting he most abhorred; the virus of its memory for ever rankled in his veins. Not eight years was it since this gnat, this Drake, this bold heretic fanatic, had, daring his edict, swept the Spanish Indies and plundered a Spanish galleon of their treasures, loaded with which he had returned to England, to be applauded and knighted by its Queen. Not one year was it since, descending upon Cadiz and the ports of the Faro, this same freebooter had inflicted an almost irreparable blow upon the preparations ripening for the great attack. The land of God! The land of the foul fiend rather. But it was all decided at last; the hour of reckoning was come, and he, Philip, only awaited the news confirmatory to exact his bitter toll for every abuse, for every humiliation, for every insult so long heaped upon him. Standing there, he recalled a certain letter, in which this Jezebel, this Queen of heretics, had finally, soon after her accession, rejected the offer of his hand. That had been thirty years ago, but the memory remained, an open wound. She was to answer for it in her “land of God.” And Drake! With the venom of a mean nature he lusted to wreak the first of his triumphant hate on the body of the “sea-dog’s” chaplain. The wretch’s nerves of feeling must be got at somehow; he, Philip, must think of some harrowing method; and in the meantime it would be richly gratifying to disinter that old letter of rejection, and gloat over the reprisals to be exacted for it. His face transfigured, he released his hold of the priest, and was on the point of moving from the room, when a sudden soft hubbub arising outside arrested him. Always fearful of violence, he hesitated an instant, then, in a spasm of panic, tore aside the hangings. A throng of ashy faces greeted him. Instinctively he read the truth. “My fleet!” he gasped. A cowering courtier fell upon his knees before him. “Destroyed, dispersed, great lord.” “By what--by whom?” “By shot, by fire, by tempest. The English captains in their privateers swarmed like gnats about the rolling hulks.” “Like gnats? Was Drake among them?” “The first and worst.” The King staggered, recovered himself, stiffened, and turned towards his oratory. “No more,” he said. “I take it kneeling.” He moved away stupidly, stopped, turned again, and addressed himself, as if groping, towards the Jesuit: “I take it kneeling, I say. The land of God--England--can it be--and I----?” Some insect droned in the dead silence; the King was seen to start, to stoop, to block his ears with his hands. “Tell them,” he said thickly, “to let the seaman go, in God’s name and the King’s. It is our will.” George Buchanan