The King, who was in that lethargic state of slumber, between sleep and
waking, heard a shuffle of steps beyond the door; a cold sweat broke
once more on his forehead, and he waved his left hand listlessly.
Outside the sun had risen, and a broad daylight flooded the wet meadows
and the brimming tide of the Severn, catching the sails of the boats
that were heeling and trembling on the ripple of the water, which was
stirred by the South wind. The King looked towards the window with
weariness, expecting, as far as his lethargy allowed, the advent of
another monotonous day.

The door opened. The faces he saw by the gaoler's torch were not
those he expected. The King, I say, looked towards them, and his hands
trembled, and the moisture on them glistened. They were dark, and one of
them was concealed by a silken mask.

Three men entered the dungeon. In the hands of the foremost of the three
glowed a red-hot iron, which was to be the manner of his doom.




THE ISLAND

"Perhaps we had better not land after all," said Lewis as he was
stepping into the boat; "we can explore this island on our way home."

"We had much better land now," said Stewart; "we shall get to Teneriffe
to-morrow in any case. Besides, an island that's not on the chart is too
exciting a thing to wait for."