been painfully growing within him that Venice was playing
her hand skilfully--that Caterina would find herself simply a pawn to be
moved at will of the Republic, and that "check" would be called whenever
that masterful will should elect: there had been signs, too many to
ignore, of splendor of movement and expenditure whenever the prestige of
the Republic might be concerned--of indifference when the grievances of
the Queen were confessed, or the autonomy of the island was in
question--of slowly increasing assertion of Venetian power and rights.

He had accepted his mission, at the hands of his Government, to protect
the rights of the Queen--not to enslave Cyprus; and his duty stood forth
to him in firm, unwavering lines. Yet how should he dismay Caterina
further in the attempt to force her fuller comprehension? He hesitated
for a moment, but there seemed no other way. For very pity of her he
spoke decidedly, with slow insistence holding her attention.

"The Queen of Cyprus _holdeth her kingdom by no favor of Venice_; but of
inheritance, through her husband, the King. The failures in the
Government should be righted by Cyprian wisdom; we must fill the
vacancies with Cypriotes. I will take counsel with His Excellency the
Lord Admiral of Cyprus."

XXVIII

It was the birthday of the little Prince:--only one year since he had
opened his baby-eyes on life--and the day of his anniversary dawned
radiantly.

Then, suddenly, athwart the sunshine and the promise, like the cloud in
a perfect sky in a day of June, the shadows gathered and darkened.

The child was stricken.

"There is no hope," they said; and before the day had closed the little
dimpled hands were folded over his marble breast, the long dark lashes
peacefully swept the violet eyes that would never again unclose; and the
tiny restless feet were still--oh, God, how still!--while, on the
baby-brows that would never know the weight of the crown he was born to
bear, the smile of a cherub crowned him with the promise of fairer Life.

The nobles, the soldiers, the courtiers, the people, they came and
looked, often with silent tears, as he lay in state, in the light of
countless tapers, on his mound of flowers--offerings not only from royal
terraces--for his mother had willed it so--but the gifts which his
people had brought, lay there together, rare exotics and the flowers of
the field and forest, crushed and mangled, perchance, in some toil-worn
hand when