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man Robert Morgan had described. His letters dated from the Palace of the Lieutenant-Governor. Henry found the Palace, a low, grubby house with walls of whitewashed mud and a roof of red tiles badly molded. There was a gaudy halberdier standing at the door, holding his great, ineffectual weapon rigidly before him, the while he maintained a tortured decorum in the face of a swarm of enemy flies.

The halberd lowered across the pathway as Henry approached.

“I am looking for Sir Edward Morgan.”

“What do you wish with His Excellency?”

“Why, you see, sir, he is my uncle, and I wish to speak with him.”

The soldier scowled suspiciously and stiffened his hold on the halberd. Then Henry remembered his lessons of the plantation. Perhaps this man, for all his red coat, might be something of a slave.

“Get out of my way, you damned pup,” he cried. “Get out of my way or I'll see you hanged.”

The man cowered and almost dropped his weapon. “Yes, sir. I'll send your word, sir.” He blew a little silver call, and when a servant in green lace came to the door, he said:

“A young gentleman to see His Excellency.”

Henry was led into a little room made dark with thick, gray hangings edged with dull gold. There were three dim portraits on the walls, in black frames; two cavaliers in plumed hats, holding their swords horizontally so they looked like stiff, slender tails, and a pretty lady with powdered hair