On coming to the glade, however, and to the arbor in which Eleanor and Gyll Croyden had been imprisoned, he stood still before the threshold in mute astonishment. There, near the ashes of a fire, lay Towaye, basking in the sunlight, sound asleep. Amazedly the youth started forward and peered into the arbor. It was empty. Assuring himself of this, he stamped and swore roundly, but, with a second glance at the slumbering Indian, his expression changed. A sense of humor asserted itself above chagrin and even astonishment in the boyish eyes. “How now?” he laughed. “’Tis a court masque. Lo, a golden necklace and beribboned peruke garnish our Lucifer!” He shook Towaye none too gently with his foot. The Indian, rolling over, rubbed his eyes and strove to sit upright, but his bond held him fast to the stout grape-vine. “I dreamed that I tried once before,” he said, in sleepy bewilderment; “but the Daughter of the Sun hath woven a spell.” “Fool!” ejaculated Frazer. “Nay, no fool. ’Twas she and the captive sunlight which, escaping its bondage, entered my body at her command and overpowered it.” Frazer’s eyes, falling on an empty bottle, brought him comprehension, and his thoughts went back to another bottle which but recently had worked his own failure. The remembrance decreased his severity. He unbraided the peruke, “like a barber,” he said, and bade the Indian join him in pursuing the women. At this Sir Walter St. Magil, who had followed him from the shore, entered the opening. “I have come in search of you.” “Unbidden!” returned Frazer, hotly. St. Magil smiled. “You will not remonstrate on hearing the cause.” “Nay, for I have not the time. No cause delays me.” “Whither go you, then?” Frazer made no answer. “Ah, for some _liaison_, I doubt not. Mark me, a woman will work your downfall.” The youth laughed carelessly, and would have gone away, but his friend detained him. “A ship from Spain has joined the _Madre de Dios_. We return across the seas. Philip will invade England.” Frazer started, trembled. His cheeks flushed, a new light shone in the blue eyes. The whole expression read: _Ambition_. “Invade England!” “Yes; with an armada so great that the issue is foregone. Naturally, your Highness”—the title came half ironical, half serious—“will want to step first on English soil, no more as Ralph Contempt or Frazer.” “Nay, no more.” The echo sounded dreamy. “Now,” pursued St. Magil, “we have bigger fish to fry than these of Virginia. Roanoke is but a minnow, England a whale.” Frazer’s lips parted, smiling. “I have had many names,” he said, “but the whale unpleasantly suggests a new one—Jonah! Now, a minnow—” but he was only babbling words detached from thoughts, all-expectant, bewildered, glad, eager, like a child on Christmas Eve. “Your Highness,” observed the other, “will make a merry—” “Hush, Sir Walter, you tempt Fortune.” CHAPTER XVI “What, rebels, do you shrink and sound retreat?”