. He was richly dressed, as was his custom even in outlandish
places, and the furred robe which he drew closer round his shoulders hid
a doublet of fine maroon velvet. For comfort he wore a loose collar and
band instead of his usual cut ruff. He stretched out his hand to the
table at his elbow where lay the Latin version of his Discovery of
Guiana, of which he had been turning the pages, and beside it a glass of
whisky, almost the last of the thirty-two gallon cask which Lord Boyle
had given him in Cork on his way out. He replenished his glass with
water from a silver carafe, and sipped it, for it checked his cold
rigours. As he set it down he looked up to greet a man who had just
entered.

The new-comer was not more than forty years old, like the Admiral, but
he was lame of his left leg, and held himself with a stoop. His left
arm, too hung limp and withered by his side. The skin of his face was
gnarled like the bark of a tree, and seamed with a white scar which
drooped over the corner of one eye and so narrowed it to half the size
of the other. He was the captain of Raleigh's flagship, the Destiny,
an old seafarer, who in twenty years had lived a century of
adventure.

"I wish you good evening, Sir Walter," he said in his deep voice. "They
tell me the fever is abating."

The Admiral smiled wanly, and in his smile there was still a trace of
the golden charm which had once won all men's hearts.

"My fever will never abate this side the grave," he said. "Jasper, old
friend, I would have you sit with me tonight. I am like King Saul, the
sport of devils. Be you my David to exorcise them. I have evil news. Tom
Keymis is dead."

The other nodded. Tom Keymis had been dead for ten days, since before
they left Trinidad. He was aware of the obsession of the Admiral, which
made the tragedy seem fresh news daily.

"Dead," said Raleigh. "I slew him by my harshness. I see him stumbling
off to his cabin, an old bent man, though younger than me. But he failed
me. He betrayed his trust.... Trust, what does that matter? We are all
dying. Old Tom has only gone on a little way before the rest. And many
went before him."

The voice had become shrill and hard. He was speaking to himself.

"The best--the very best. My brave young Walter, and Cosmor and Piggot
and John Talbot and Ned Coffyn.... Ned was your kinsman, Jasper?"

"My cousin--the son of my mother's brother." The man spoke, like
Raleigh, in a Devon accent, with the cream