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naked and unashamed. In an hour—such is the passionate blood of her race—she was lying in my arms. Sire, in all my wanderings, in the lovely women I have seen and the towns I have taken, there has been no pleasure like the days of that joyous summer. When she could escape, we played together in the hills like little gods. But this was not enough. We wanted to be married. She would give up her rank and we would go to live somewhere in America.

“Then the Autumn came. One day she said, `They are ready to take me away, but I will not go.’ The next day she did not come to me. In the night I went to her window and she threw a little note to me, `I am imprisoned. They have whipped me.'

“I went home. What else could I do? I could not fight them, the stout soldiers who guarded her. Very late that night there was a pounding on the door and cries, `Where is a doctor to be had? Quick! The little princess has poisoned herself.’”

Henry lifted his eyes. The King was smiling ironically. John Evelyn drummed the table with his fingers.

“Yes?” said the King. “Yes?” He chuckled.

“Ah, I am old—old,” Henry moaned. “It is a lie. She was a peasant child, the daughter of a cottager.”

He staggered to his feet and moved toward the door. Shame was burning in his face.

“Captain Morgan, you forget yourself.”

“I—forget—myself?”