ars raising
huge bunches of violets on bamboo poles to the deck rails, and the
mingling of singing voices with guitars sets it all to music.

On the forward deck Benton stood leaning on the rail and looking toward
the city. At his side was Cara Carstow. She was silent, but she shook
her head, and the man's solicitous scrutiny caught the deepening
thought-furrow between her eyes, and the twitching of her fingers.

He bent forward and spoke softly. "Cara, what is it?" She looked up and
smiled. "I was remembering that I stood just here, once before," she
said.

"Do you think," he asked quietly, "that there has been a moment since
then that I have not remembered it? That night you belonged to me and I
to you."

"I guess," she said rather wearily, "we don't any of us belong to
ourselves or to those we love most. We just belong to Fate."

"Cara!" He gripped the rail tightly and his words fell evenly. "Over
there in America, you admitted to me that you loved me. That was when
you were not yet Queen of Galavia." He brought himself up with a sudden
halt. She looked up as frankly as a child.

"I didn't admit it," she said. "We only admit things against our will,
don't we? I told you gladly."

"And now--!" He held his breath as he looked into her eyes.

"Now I am the Queen of a hideous little Kingdom," she shuddered. "It
wouldn't do for me to say it now, would it?"

"Oh!" The man leaned again heavily on the rail. The monosyllable was
eloquent. Impulsively she bent toward him, then caught herself. For a
moment she looked out at the water undulating under the moon like
mother-of-pearl on a waving fan. "But it was all right to say I loved
you then," she went on reflectively, after a pause. "I had a perfect
right then to tell you that I loved you better than all the small total
of the world beside, and--" her voice faltered for a moment--"and," with
a musical laugh, she illogically added, "I have nothing to take back of
what I then said, though of course I can't ever say it again."

CHAPTER XXII

THE SENTRY BOX ANSWERS THE KING'S QUERY

Several days later, Blanco arrived in Puntal shortly after the lazy noon
hour.

Out of disconnected fragments of fact and memory he had evolved a
theory. It was a theory as yet immature and half-baked, but one upon
which he resolved to act, trusting to the lucky outcome of subsequent
events for the filling in of many gaps, and the making good of many
deficiencies.

Among the