“But I have dreamed of you,” he persisted, “as walking beside me, your hand in mine, through a vista of green and gold. And I dreamed that we stood on the brink of a silver stream—stood, oh, so long—until at last I carried you across. Yet, before that, I had called you queen—Queen of England—was it not strange? But you broke my heart by refusing to call me king. Come.” She laughed, with desperate coquetry. “And for a whimsical dream must we lose ourselves in the gloomy forest?” He grew restless. “To the shore, then. Perchance the river should have been the sea. I did not read the dream aright. It must, indeed, have meant the sea, else wherefore the King and Queen of England?” “No,” she answered, forcing a pout to her lips. “The sound of the surf oppresses me. Have you not more faith in the music of your voice? I had not supposed you lacked self-confidence.” “Until now nor had I supposed so.” He kissed her hand, which was cold and lifeless. “But now—” “You do not realize,” she interposed, striving strenuously to fight down the meaning regret in her voice, “how much I have given you.” At this he seized her hand again, to cover it with kisses, and, growing more bold, bent down to kiss her lips; but she recoiled quickly, and, eluding him, stepped back until the cannon lay between them. Then she forced herself to laugh. He vaulted over the caliver. “Even this great piece,” he cried, “although it were ready primed, could scarce deter me,” and, seizing both of her hands, he leaned down to repeat his first attempt. But she hung her head, and his lips only brushed the velvet of her cap. Then, raising her eyes to his, by sheer force of will she dominated his desire, held it in check, yet kindled it the more. “Stay,” she objected, calmly, “you little comprehend the ways of women; they must be wooed before they can be won.” He started back with an impatient gesture. “They can wait, then, to be wooed,” and, turning, he would have re-entered the fortress. Had she lost him? Must the humiliation of it all be bitterly deepened by failure? No. She felt her woman’s power, her tingling wit and intuitive diplomacy rise quickly to meet the crisis. “I pray you, do not go, Master Contempt. Have I been so very unkind?” He turned back smiling, his self-conceit actually leading him to believe that his own little ruse of apparent indifference had worked success. A bold, flashing plan came to her. She would play upon the man’s two conflicting desires at one and the same time. A double spell must shackle him. “I have it,” she suggested, in a yielding voice. “Let us row out to the _Admiral_, and pretend we have left this dangerous land for good and all.” His eyes sparkled. Fortune had showered him with favors. He felt less compunction now in making love. She little knew, he thought, how opportunely her suggestion came. He even feigned reluctance for the moment, to hide the eagerness of his steps. They walked to the shore.