s
does a goddess, conscious of her power but magnanimously refraining from
using it. Constans and Ulick laughed after the manner of men-kind who
find it easy to disbelieve in what they do not understand. Then, with a
long hand-grip, they parted.

The canoe was still in its hiding-place underneath the ruined pier, and
Constans's first care was to stow away in the stern-locker the two
volumes of the scientific cyclopaedia that he had been reading at the
time of his capture. Ulick of his own volition had stolen the books from
the library hall, and had put them into Constans's hands at the moment
of parting. They made a heavy load for him to carry, but what a precious
burden it was and how gladly he assumed it! For these were the keys of
power.

As Constans paddled out into the stream he heard the steady thumping of
oars in rowlock. He shoved back into the shadow of the pier just as a
great galley filled with men came foaming down the river. Constans could
see that it was a war-vessel of the largest size, for there were full
sixty oars on a side arranged in two banks. The figure-head was the
representation of a black swan, and on the poop-deck stood the slight,
graceful figure of a man wearing a plumed hat. Constans saw him remove
the cigar from his lips as he turned to give an order. Instantly the
port-oars held and backed, and the galley, swinging round on her heel,
headed up-stream again, passing within fifty yards of Constans's
hiding-place. The boy's bow was in his hand, but he had not attempted to
fit an arrow to the string. "It will come--the time," he said, under his
breath.

Constans stared gravely after the _Black Swan_ as she drove along. But
for the best of good-fortune he might now be tugging at a heavy ashen
oar, with the lash of the deck-master striping his back. Ulick,
Esmay--yes, he had much to remember.

Two hours later he had scaled the wall of Croye, without being
discovered by the sleepy sentinels, and was safe on his pallet of
corn-husks in Messer Hugolin's attic.

X

THE MESSAGE

Three years had passed since that first memorable visit to Doom the
Forbidden--years of work and of growth. The simple out-door life and the
physical toil had been good discipline for Constans, and he was now a
well-built young fellow of two-and-twenty, nearly six feet tall and with
muscles like steel wire.

The nights, too, had afforded compensation for the labors of the day,
for then he could read and st