"I know! I know!" The master spoke fretfully. "I'm hardly fit to serve her. My Lords,"--he looked round hazily towards his sister--"my Lords, you must take command--you must save Margaret, my Queen. Tell her, my Lords, that the Chariot--the Chariot of the Sun--has--has fallen. Tell her I tried--tried----" He rolled out of his chair insensible. The men were crowding about him to advise, to ask for assistance, to help. "Back! Back!" cried the woman. "He's mine! He's mine, I tell you!" Her hands wrenched at the gorget of his mailed tunic, she released the pressure on his throat, she bathed his head, all the time crying angrily at the men--"Get away--off with you, out of my house, get to your yachts, bring the list of the ships from his office. Bring the Imperial Fleet to guard him until he can light. Stay, you! My Lord Lancaster, quick, cut away this chain-mail. Are they all gone?" Staggering to her feet, she called after Jack O'Brien. "Your yacht, sir, bring Dr. Boyes--965, George Street. You, Lord Clydesdale, telephone Boyes to be ready." They laid the master on the bench in the window and when nothing more could be done, waited with what patience they might, Lancaster on his knees, fanning the still white face, Mistress Brand seated at the head of the table against a galaxy of electric lamps. Beyond the broad frame of the open window glowed sea and sky in one great sphere of moonlight glory, and at times the perfume of seaweed came in on the salt cool air. From time to time she plied the bandages about her brother's head with ice-cold water; and always, clutched in the death-like rigour of Brand's left hand, the aerograph clicked message after message. Presently above the low murmur of the pulsing sea, the tireless instrument sounded insistent signals, so that the woman's quick brain began to take in the words flashed down by Captain Simpson from the _Lion_. "Sorry to trouble you, sir. I'm getting anxious about the _Golden Hind_. She ought to be here ninety minutes ago. I asked the towns on her route, and she's not been seen either from Douglas, from Holyhead, or from Pembroke. Manchester reported a first-class etheric liner passing at 10 p.m. on the way to London. I asked the London office, and find she was lying directly over Whitehall at 11 o'clock, then headed for the west. I fear that Ulster's up to some new treachery. More news, sir--first-class etheric liner sighted from Salisbury heading for Lyonesse." Wrenching the aerograph from her brother's hand, Mistress Sarah gave the signal "continue." "Glad you read me, sir, my broken arm makes it hard to signal." Mistress Sarah, little used to the instrument, spelled out an order slowly. "Call up the _Golden Hind_." There was a long pause before the aerograph stirred again. "No reply, sir. Exeter reports the _Golden Hind_. She will be here in half an hour." A servant announced Dr. Boyes.