“I thank you, Captain O’Shea,” said the other. “I cannot help thinking now and then of what will be the fate of my principality when death comes to me. If I am spared for ten or fifteen years longer, I shall have time to set my affairs in order, to make Trinadaro self-sustaining, to win the recognition of foreign governments, to arrange for an administration to succeed my reign.” “May you live to be a king until you are a hundred!” cried O’Shea. “And a man who is as happy and contented as you are is pretty sure of a ripe old age.” “I hope that you and Mr. Kent will consent to sail under my flag as long as I live,” earnestly said the king. “I have learned to depend on you, and I need not tell you that the financial arrangement will be more favorable than you could make elsewhere.” “We have no notion of quitting your service,” replied O’Shea, with a smile. “’Tis up to us to see the kingdom fairly under way before we turn rovers again.” It was early in the morning of the second day after this when the officer on watch roused Captain O’Shea with the news that land had been sighted on the starboard bow. The master of the _Tarlington_ stared through his binoculars and saw a black, jagged foreland of rock lifting from the sea. He sent word to the passengers that Trinadaro lay ahead of them. King Osmond had left word that he was to be called whenever the first glimpse of his island should be revealed. But he came not to the bridge in response to the message from Captain O’Shea. In his stead appeared his physician, with a demeanor terribly distressed. His voice was unsteady as he said: “It is my sad duty to inform you that His Majesty passed away some time during the night. His heart simply ceased to beat. It had been somewhat feeble and irregular of late, but the symptoms were not alarming. His strength was overtaxed during those last weeks in London.” O’Shea bared his head and stood silent. The announcement was very hard to believe. Pulling himself together, he murmured to the chief officer: “The king is dead. Please set the flag of Trinadaro at half-mast.” As soon as the word was passed down to the engine-room Johnny Kent sought the bridge and his eyes filled with tears as he exclaimed: “It don’t seem right, Cap’n Mike. I ain’t reconciled to it one mite. He deserved to have what he wanted.” “Yes, he had slipped his cable, Johnny. There are cruel tricks in this game of life.” “What will you do now?” “I have had no time to think. But one thing is certain. I will carry King Osmond to his island, and there we will bury him. ’Tis the one place in all the world where he would want to rest. And the peaks of Trinadaro will guard him, and the big breakers will sing anthems for him, and he will be the king there till the Judgment Day.”