"My cousin, the Duke of Lancaster," said the Queen. "You have chosen well. Bring him here, Mr. Brand." The American crossed the room, opened the window, and summoned the sentry, who made his salute to the Queen. "Tom," said our Lady, "do you love me?" He knelt and kissed her hand. "Quick, Tom," said the Queen. "Order two horses, the best we have, and bring an officer's harness for Mr. Brand, use this,"--she gave him her signet ring. "Take brevet rank as subaltern, and if you live, I'll confirm it. Now run!" His Royal Highness looked sideways at the American, then sideways at the Queen, then, with a malicious understanding chuckle, was gone like a flash. The Queen sat thinking. "There is danger still," she said presently. "The destroyers are patrolling everywhere, and your yacht on her way to the Tower was chased by the Channel Fleet just come from Portsmouth. Instead of running, she rose up high, soaring miles into the air. The Fleet could not follow because no man could breathe up yonder. But they say the yacht must come down, so they have scattered out to watch. Must she come down?" "Not till I want her." "What are your plans?" she asked presently. "To get the yacht," he answered, "bring the Fleet to terms, recapture Lyonesse, collect my squadron, find my Ministers of State, and weld them into a strong Cabinet. Then I hope to hang Ulster, seize the departments, set up the Queen's provisional Government, call a General Election, and declare war with the Allies. Meanwhile the Queen must keep our enemies amused." "But if you die in the Queen's service?" He laughed. "They'll throw my body into a ditch and cry, 'So perish all the Queen's enemies!'" Turning to the table she wrote upon a slip of paper-- "The bearer is my Messenger. "Margaret R.I." "Kneel," she said, gravely, and he bent his knee to the ground. "This is a token of our love and trust." He glanced at the paper. "I can't take that, dear Queen. It might compromise you; it's too dangerous." He would have risen. "No, don't get up yet." The Duke of Lancaster had come in bearing a suit of armour and a cloak. "Give me your sword, Tom." The soldier bent his knee and presented the hilt. "Now," she stood up waving the sword lightly above the master's head, "will you be my true knight?" The master sank down on both knees, and lifted up his clasped hands. "Rise," cried the Queen, striking the accolade on his shoulder. "You are too great for any poor titles or dignities of my chivalry, but be my friend, Mr. Brand, and put on the harness of my knights. Staunch champion," her voice broke, "true, loyal friend, there's nothing left for the Queen to do but pray. God save you this wild night, God save and keep you in this fearful war." He kissed her outstretched hand. "Good-bye, my Queen." "Good-bye, my champion. Good-bye until we meet in happier times."