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one's value to a real. Have you any idea of your worth, Captain?”

Henry Morgan said, “If I were ever captured and a ransom demanded for me, I would not be worth a copper penny. These dogs of mine would laugh and shrug. A new captain would rise to lead them, and I—well, I would be subject to the pleasure of my captors, and I think I could foretell their pleasure. You see, I have been at revaluing myself in the last few days. I may have some value to historians because I have destroyed a few things. The builder of your Cathedral is forgotten even now, but I, who burned it, may be remembered for a hundred years or so. And that may mean something or other about mankind.”

“But what is there about me that is worth all this gold?” she insisted. “Is it my arms, do you suppose? My hair? Or is it that I am the embodiment of my husband's vanity?”

“I do not know,” said Henry. “With the revaluation of myself, the whole economic system of emotions and persons has changed. To-day, were I to demand a ransom, perhaps you would not be flattered.”

“Do you so hate me, Captain Morgan?”

“No, I do not hate you; but you are one of the stars of my firmament which has proven to be a meteor.”

“That is not gallant, sir. That is quite different from your speech of a few days past,” she observed spitefully.